


Observing Galaxies

by Nerdling_Queen



Series: starfire verse [2]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Ryn's Multiverse
Genre: ...sort of, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anchors, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, BAMF Simon Lewis, BAMF Women, Backstory, Broken Families, Broken People Doing Horrible Things, Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Consent Issues, Curses, Demonic Possession, Demons, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dreamwalking, Dysfunctional Relationships, Elements of dubcon, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Femslash, Fighting, Forced Betrayal, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Getting Together, Girls Kissing, Graphic Violence, Half-Sibling Incest, Hell, Hurt Alec, Hurt Simon Lewis, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kissing, Literal God Complex, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mass Murder, Mental Instability, Meta, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Minor Character Death, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Murder, No One Is Okay, Non-Linear Narrative, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nonbinary Character, Occasional fluff, POV Alternating, POV Outsider, Platonic Relationships, Poor Alec Lightwood, Power Dynamics, Pre-Femslash, Prophetic Visions, Relationship Issues, Self-Insert, Single Parents, Temporary Character Death, The Author Regrets Everything, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, so do the characters, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdling_Queen/pseuds/Nerdling_Queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aidan is gone, taken by Asmodeus, somewhere even worse than Edom. It's up to Clary, and some old friends of Aidan's, to get him back.<br/>But he's not the only thing they're going to find, and some things would have been better kept hidden... Or, in Alec's case, locked away where it can't hurt anyone.<br/>(Oh, and somewhere along the way, there's someone an awful lot like God. You should always meet the people who (maybe-technically) control your life, right?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Observing Galaxies

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE 30K IN TWO AND A HALF FUCKING MONTHS I NEED A REWARD OF SOME KIND AND THEN I NEED TO HIBERNATE  
> Okay, okay... actual notes: Sequel to Morningstar Ascending. Formatted much the same way- left-align means pre-Clary, justify is during the series, and right-align is... dialogue unhooked from time? scenes I never had the time/patience to develop? I dunno, man.  
> All from 'outsider' POV, mainly female. Aidan's thoughts will never be explored, but Clary's, Isabelle's, Sarah's, Kaitlyn's, Rhia's, even Magnus and Catarina and Alec get turns. (Well... and the Deity, but we'll get to them later.)  
> Also... lot more romance and relationships in this one. FEMSLASH! WHOO! Malec takes a step forward in development, and Sizzy/Clace get more screentime. Also lots of platonic relationships. However, with this comes more exploration of Madden/Sarah; why it happened, why it's still here, and why it isn't going away. If that isn't your cup of tea, I'm sorry. You can skip those scenes, but you'll miss character development.  
> I'm serious about the character death. You'll be watching someone die through their own eyes.  
> But this one does have fluff! I managed it!  
> (...then we have the Bane thing, but hey. Fluff. Appreciate.)  
> The final installment can't be posted for a while. I won't say why, because spoilers, but... let's just say I need another story to advance its plot enough for the coda to be published. :) (Also, if you want to read the coda when it does come out, you really should read the other story whose plot is involved with the coda. You will have no fucking clue what's happening otherwise.) However, in the meantime, I'll be publishing some scenes that didn't make the cut- I either couldn't make them work or didn't have time to get through them before my deadline.  
> (AND YET THIS IS STILL SEVERAL THOUSAND WORDS LONGER THAN MORNINGSTAR ASCENDING WHEN THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN)  
> *ahem*  
> And now, without further ado...  
> ONWARDS, MINIONS!!!

_“What you have to understand, Isabelle,” Clary says, “is that you can’t fix him.”_

_Isabelle stares at her. “Clary-”_

_“He’s broken,” the redhead continues, heedless of the other girl’s inner turmoil; “he’s broken, shattered, turned to ashes and melted down to memories. But you cannot fix him. No one can. He’s done the best he could- the personalities- but all we can do is be there for him and take as much off him as we can. All we can do is support him and keep him out of his father’s hands- and mother’s, too, I guess.” Her green eyes are bright, determined and protective and all too sincere, and she holds her hand out to the dark-eyed Shadowhunter. “All you can do is help me protect him,” she says, the words running under Isabelle’s skin, smoldering like magma inside her veins. Clary’s eyes burn into hers like the heavenly fire that had consumed her brother, and Isabelle is reminded of the Morgenstern blood that flows thick through the shorter girl’s veins. Clary swallows._

_“So. Help me?”_

_Her hand is in the air between their bodies, an invitation and a promise and a warning all at once, and Isabelle knows that she can’t go back if she takes it._

_Her own hand raises slowly, hesitatingly, but her grip on Clary’s is the strong grip she uses on the hilt of her seraph blade. Clary smiles at her, all red silk and sharp-edged diamonds, and she shakes Isabelle’s hand with the weight of a lifelong commitment in her fingers._

_The sound of a door slamming shut echoes in Isabelle’s mind, but she cannot bring herself to regret it._

* * *

* * *

Kaitlyn doesn’t really remember her first meeting with Niko. It’s blurred and too bright, background sound and color overtaking the important details, like most of her memories from when she was high. She remembers cunning eyes the color of wet moss, and messy, dark-verging-on-black hair swept back behind pale ears. A deep voice, tone amused and intrigued and mocking by turns. A hand, callused and rough but gentle. Muscles shifting under a thin blue shirt. His clothes had been tame compared to everyone else’s- hers included: a simple sheer top and shimmering black-and-silver jeans; head bare; no jewelry. He had been a little tipsy, but his head had been clear enough. She remembers herself laughing, and a swift shift into alertness when she heard his name. She’d never met him, she knew that, but his name echoed in her ringing head like she was supposed to recognize him. Not Niko Mattina- she knew _that_ name, a well-off warlock healing anything for the right price down by the Hudson- but _Aidan_.

Something in her recognized _Aidan_ , something from when she was younger and Clarisse Nomhe, the first warlock she ever met, was telling her old tales from old times.

She smiled at him- she thinks she did- and she went home with him. She didn’t want a good time, and neither did he; she wanted to know why her inner child knew the name _Aidan_ so intimately, and she’s pretty sure he just wanted to know _her_.

Kaitlyn remembers what happened after that a little more clearly. She was coming off her high then, and his mossy eyes and dark hair was less blurry, and his voice cut through the dregs of her high as efficiently as a blade slicing through flesh. She’d groaned at the low and he made her coffee, coming back into the living room of his apartment in a sweatshirt and plainer jeans and barefoot, and she’d stared because no one did that anymore, even in private. He’d smiled and handed her a cup and told her he didn’t like fripperies, and her tail had curled around his wrist without her telling it to.

She stayed sober for a while, hours, while Niko talked. (He may have said _Call me Aidan_ but Kaitlyn knows the difference, she knows the man she spoke to that night and every night after wasn’t Aidan, was _Niko_ , no matter what he himself tried to believe.) He told her about growing up in Egypt, about his mother and his village, about his marks coming in. His glamour shimmered and fell as he talked about the scars on his shoulders, his chest, his forearms, and Kaitlyn’s tail traced them while she watches his face. His bronze skin glittered gold, eyes even brighter, and she kept a smile on her face the whole time.

He talked for hours and when the clock hit seven, he sent her home. They’d only started in on Rome, and he told her that, if she came back at all, to come back when she was sober again. She smiled, stroked his cheek with the tip of her tail, and dashed off to hail a cab.

Kaitlyn remembers the days after that, drugging herself out of her mind to keep the images of a glittering little boy cut open by his neighbors, growing up silent and alone in a merciless desert, being told he was damned and doomed by the Devil himself, _his father._

Kaitlyn only half-managed it, and when she realized it was useless, she tossed out the weed and went back to Niko’s apartment.

* * *

Clary doesn’t tell Simon, but she remembers meeting him for the first time- the real first time. She doesn’t find out that the memory is of her best friend for years, but she does remember it. Vividly, actually.

There’s a person bending over her, and he’s smiling so he must be nice. He has hair that winds around on itself, and it’s dark, dark like the drinks that Mommy drinks all the time, sometimes with ice and milk and sometimes not, gray air drifting off the top. He asks her something, calls her ‘little lady’; Clary decides she likes that nickname. “My name is Simon,” he says, and his fingers tuck under her chin, tipping her head back. “What’s yours?” The fingers are soft and warm, Clary likes them; she tries to think through what he said. He asked what her name is, she thinks. _Name… name… Oh!_ That thing Mommy calls her, more than anything else, and what she calls Clary in front of other people.

“Clary,” she says. It comes out wrong, the bit before the “ee” sound not the same as the way Mommy says it, but it’s fun to say and Clary’s proud that she managed that much. She’s bad at using her mouth like this. “Clary!” she giggles. She tosses her arms into the air. She runs around in a little area, giggling, for a little while, before she looks back at _Simon_. His body is weird now, back hunched over and arms on his knees and upper legs, heels off the ground and toes digging in.

He makes a motion with his hand above his head. Clary’s seen people take off hats before and it kind of looks like that… but without a real hat. It’s funny. She laughs. He says something else: “Well hello there, Clary.” Her name sounds even nicer in his mouth. She giggles, stomach feeling bubbly, and she decides that he deserves something nice for being so nice to her. Mommy likes it when Clary puts her arms around her and squeezes; will Simon like it too? She decides to risk it: she puts her arms around him, as far as they will go, and she squeezes as hard as she can.

He goes very still for a second, and Clary worries that she’s made a mistake; then he wraps his arms around her _(wow he’s big)_ and gently squeezes back. She smiles into his chest and pulls away, and she decides to try his name. She thinks she can do it.

“‘Imon!” she cries happily. Maybe it’s not quite right, but it sounds good enough to her, and Simon is smiling so he’s happy too, right? He wiggles his fingers in front of her face, and she’s confused for a second, but then there’s a bright burst of gold light. It’s from his fingers, little sparks jumping around; Clary makes an awed coo, green eyes wide. She reaches out, tries to touch one, but it dodges her fingers and skims along her cheek. She laughs and claps.

Then Mommy is there, pulling Clary away from Simon and into her arms. Clary doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Mommy is spitting words at Simon, voice harsh and angry and scared too, a little, but Simon just sounds sad. Clary wriggles; she wants to get back to Simon, back to when there were bright sparks dancing on her face and Simon was smiling and not sad. She looks up in time to catch his brown eyes flash bright gold, the color of the sparks, and she struggles harder.

Mommy’s arms go slack, and Clary tumbles into Simon’s.

Mommy speaks again, but her voice is resigned. Simon says something back and they keep talking, and Simon rubs his nose into Clary’s hair. It feels kind of nice. But then Simon stands up and puts Clary down, with Mommy, and he walks away. Clary watches him leave with large, confused green eyes, but Mommy doesn’t let her watch for long. She picks Clary up and puts her in the car, talking the whole time. Clary catches something about protection and magic and memories, and over and over, a name: Magnus Bane. It’s a strange name, Clary thinks privately, but a good name too.

Clary remembers meeting Magnus, too, but it’s never been as important as the memory of Simon.

* * *

Clary doesn’t quite understand why Simon doesn’t trust Alec, why he’s so wary around him (even though it seems like no one except her notices), and that’s when he tells her, voice hushed and cracking, about his Bane. About the thing following him, tracking him down, uncaring of who gets in the way. About the color palette it alwaysalwaysalways has, pale and black-haired and with piercing blue eyes, and Clary suddenly feels a rush of apprehension herself.

“Do you think Alec is…”

Simon shrugs. He seems more blase about this than Clary does. “He hasn’t tried to kill me yet. The wait’s not usually this long. Besides, it’s not like there aren’t other blue-eyed, black-haired, pale people out there… I just haven’t met many.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m keeping my guard up, but I’m not attacking first. I am not looking forward to trying to explain his _parabatai’s_ death to your boyfriend.”

Clary smacks his shoulder, and Simon catches her wrist to tickle her exposed ribs, and they both laugh helplessly, and it’s good.

The next time Alec comes around, though, both of them are watching him.

* * *

Sarah Adler keeps a photo in her wallet. It’s a simple snapshot, taken on her phone and then printed out. The quality is clearer than what you might expect from a years-old photo that’s been kept in a wallet, but then most people don’t expect warlocks to “waste” magic on preserving photographs.

The subject of the photo is a sleeping man, sprawled out on a couch that some might recognize as the property of the Adlers themselves. His skin is tanned bronze, his silky black hair falls messy around his face, and his arm is above his head. His face is turned to the side so you can only see his profile, and depending on the day Sarah takes the photo out, he’ll look perfectly normal.

When Sarah is feeling nostalgic, she takes the glamour on the photograph away, and then the strangeness of the man is revealed. His skin is covered in inhuman designs, bright gold and glittering, and if you know him personally he looks oddly young. Granted, his body is only in the mid-thirties, but knowing him well enough to have snapped an unglamoured picture of him, Sarah cannot help but feel like the person in the picture is a boy, not a man.

Being Simon Lewis has changed him, she’s thought to herself, more than once. He’s never been a child before, but he made himself a toddler and grew up alongside a little Nephilim girl, and now he’s different. She isn’t sure whether it’s a good or bad difference yet, but… he seems happy as Simon.

She won’t ruin that for him, but she can’t see him as a teenager, so she and Madden leave. They travel back to Germany and across Europe, retracing the paths they made centuries before, with Liam and Rhia.

Then Kaitlyn calls them with the news and they’re rushing to her apartment through a Portal, terror replacing the blood in Sarah’s veins, her hand crushingly tight around Madden’s.

* * *

Clary grips the phone in her hand desperately tight as the glow overwhelms her, the last thing she sees of Edom Aidan-not-Simon’s reassuring smile and gold eyes-

And she blinks, and she’s standing in her bedroom at Luke’s house, and Simon’s phone is digging into her palm. She slips it into her pocket and unthinkingly brings out the small object from her back pocket.

It’s a tiny bottle on a chain, a pendant of sorts. The glass is frosted ruby on a silver chain, coaxed into the shape of a tiny paintbrush. The handle is silver, the tips of the bristles red. It’s incredibly detailed and intricate. There’s something inside the bottle, clearly, but Clary’s pretty sure it’s not a solid something. Whatever it is, it’s giving off a flickering golden glow, not bright exactly but clear enough to be seen.

She undoes the clasp and redoes it behind her neck, tucking the necklace under her shirt. She is alone here, and she'll wonder where the others are later, but first-

First, there’s a phone call she has to make.

It’s number three on Simon’s speed dial, under Clary herself and his house number. _Kaitlyn Monedha_. She presses the call button, nerves jangling.

It picks up on the third ring. “Hello? Is something wrong?”

“This is Clary Fray,” Clary says, off-balance. The woman’s voice, when it returns, is cold.

“Why do you have this number?”

“Simon- Aidan- told me to call you,” Clary says, feeling almost detached from her body. There’s a sharp intake of air from the woman- Kaitlyn.

“I’m guessing you’re his anchor, then,” she mutters. “What happened?”

“He, um,” Clary fumbles. “It’s a long story… we had to go to Edom to stop a demon incursion-”

Kaitlyn makes an exasperated noise. “Of course he did, he always manages to find an encroaching apocalypse-”

“And he stayed behind to buy us passage home.”

Kaitlyn’s silent for a moment. “Lilith or Asmodeus?”

“Asmodeus.” The answer is startled out of her.

“I see.” Kaitlyn’s voice is tight. “I’ll call the others. We’ll be in New York by tonight. Do you have a necklace?”

“Y-yes, but he said you’d explain what it meant to me.”

“Fucking Aidan,” Kaitlyn mutters. “Always leaving things to me. Okay, short version: if it’s gold, don’t worry about him.”

Clary snaps.

“He’s in fucking Edom! Of _course_  I’m worried about him, how could you-”

“No, I meant-” Kaitlyn interjects. “I meant he’s alive, and maybe not safe or healthy, but he’s… himself, as much as he can be.”

Clary’s quiet for a while. “What are the other states?”

“Red means… Kaage,” Kaitlyn says simply. Clary makes a distressed noise; she knows enough about Kaage to know that she never wants to see it turn red. “Yeah,” Kaitlyn murmurs. “Black means- Black means he’s in Hell,” and Clary makes a sound like she’s been punched. “I’m just hoping we can get him back before that,” Kaitlyn says quietly.

“Yeah,” Clary agrees, shaky. “If it goes out?”

“You won’t see that happen,” Kaitlyn promises grimly. “The light goes out with Aidan.”

“Ah,” Clary says delicately.

“I need to call the Adlers,” Kaitlyn says again. “We’ll be there by tonight.”

“Got it,” Clary says, and Kaitlyn hangs up.

Clary calls Jace.

“What the fuck just happened, Clary,” her boyfriend says tightly. Clary sighs.

“Where are you?”

“Izzy and I are at the Institute. Magnus and Alec are in his apartment.”

“I’ll go to you,” Clary decides. “Tell them to come.”

“Izzy’s… not good,” Jace says quietly as Clary jogs down the stairs.

“Are any of us?” Clary scoffs, and presses END CALL.

* * *

They’re in bed together, Liam’s legs twined with hers, when he makes a little sound like he’s just remembered something important and reaches down over the edge of the bed to rummage through his coat pockets.

“Liam?” Rhia yawns. “What is it?”

Liam sits up, blanket pooling around his waist with something cupped, hidden, in his palms. “It’s for you.”

She blinks, leans over, presses his fingers apart to take a look. He’s holding a necklace, a simple silver chain with a beautiful little glass pendant on the end. It’s shaped like a cross, and she gives him a Look, but then her finger grazes it and she realizes that it doesn’t burn. It’s glowing faintly, golden and comforting; she taps it and realizes that it’s a bottle of some sort.

“What’s inside it?” she asks. Liam’s eyes are dark and solemn.

“A shard of my magic,” he says. “It’s color-coded to me. Gold means I’m fine, red means Kaage, and black means I’m with my father.”

Rhia doesn’t ask what it means if the light goes out. “Thank you,” she murmurs. Liam kisses her forehead.

“It’s no trouble.”

It’s a lie, but it’s a lie for all the right reasons, so she doesn’t challenge him on it.

* * *

_"Give him to me."_

_"Fuck off."_

* * *

Clary takes the subway to the Institute. She knows it’s a little cruel, making them wait, but she’s not exactly okay herself and she needs the time to compose herself, marshal the stormcloud of words and thoughts into coherent sentences.

_Simon isn’t always Simon._

_Aidan Morningstar isn’t just a warlock legend from the beginnings of humanity._

_Simon Lewis is a figment of a broken mind._

_My best friend is over five thousand years old, he’s dating a seventeen-year-old, and he could kill you in a millisecond._

_Simon’s real name is Aidan. He’s the son of the Devil. He’s been protecting me since I was two years old._

_He can’t love you like you love him, Izzy._

No. None of those on their own will do. And she doesn’t want to hurt anyone. _The truth hurts,_ her mind whispers. _Shut the fuck up,_ she thinks back, and wonders if Aidan’s been rubbing off on her.

* * *

The first time Magnus Bane recognizes something in Simon Lewis, it’s when he sees Simon looking at Isabelle for the first time. There’s something unguarded in his eyes, something tender and soft and tragic. It makes Magnus’ chest throb, and it reminds him of… something, someone, sometime in his past. It doesn’t feel like a good recollection.

He shrugs it away.

But it happens again, and again: the little flashes of something that isn’t quite deja-vu, of Simon Lewis being someone else in Magnus’ memory. And it’s nearly always in his eyes, when he’s looking at someone.

When he looks at Clary, he’s all protectiveness and fire and cloak-and-dagger, lurking behind his bright best friend to protect her back with no regard to his own safety. He’s rather like Alec in that way. And when he looks at Alec, for the longest time, his gaze turns sharp and distrustful and wary, like he expects Alec to attack him at any moment. That doesn’t change until after the Battle of Brocelind Plain; Simon’s eyes are still wary, but he lets Alec get behind him now, doesn’t search the room for escape routes as soon as Alec walks in, doesn’t look like he wants a blade in his hand whenever Alec gets within a few feet. And then there’s the way he always looks at Isabelle: soft and tender and warm, but there’s something coasting under the surface, something with jagged edges and a charred center. Something is broken inside Simon Lewis, and it only ever shows when he looks at Isabelle.

Magnus thinks that Simon loves Isabelle. He also thinks that it’s breaking Simon.

((He’s wrong. Simon has been broken for far longer than he's known Isabelle- he is a piece of a shattered whole.))

* * *

Kaitlyn hangs up on Clary and immediately presses Sarah’s cell number.

“Sarah?”

“Kaitlyn?” There’s a clatter and a muffled curse from Sarah. “Hang on!” Shuffling and the sounds of porcelain- _is she putting away dishes?_ Kaitlyn wonders. “Okay, I’m back,” Sarah says. “Is something wrong?”

Kaitlyn chuckles darkly. “I just got called by Clary Morgenstern.”

Sarah’s breath catches. “What happened?”

“Long story,” Kaitlyn sighs. “Abridged version- he was with her, they and some Nephilim were tracking a demon kid, Clary’s brother- don’t ask, no time- and they went to Edom for him.” Sarah mutters _fuck_ through the line. “They killed the kid, found a warlock- Magnus Bane? High Warlock of Brooklyn?”

“I know the name.”

“Yeah, found him. The gates back here closed, apparently, when they killed the demon kid. So Magnus summoned his dad.”

“...Who’s his dad?”

“Asmodeus.”

“Are you fucking kidding,” Sarah hisses.

“I wish,” Kaitlyn sighs. “Aidan stayed behind to pay for their return. I just checked the necklace.”

There’s a pause as Sarah pulls her pendant out from under her shirt. “ _Fuck_.”

Kaitlyn stares at the little glass charm in her hand, light black and smoky, making her hand look like it’s been smudged with charcoal. “Make a Portal to my apartment. I’ll get us to New York from there.”

Sarah makes a noise of assent. She starts to yell, “Madd-” before hanging up.

Kaitlyn presses the little END CALL button and stares, immobile, at the screen for a long moment, mouth pressed shut. She takes a deep breath, blinks, and moves, sets up the permanent Portal in her apartment for company.

She hangs the pendant back around her neck and crosses her arms, waiting in front of the swirling Portal for the Adlers. At least now she can’t see the damned ( _hah-fucking-hah)_ black glow.

* * *

Ataahua knows Frederick is not what he says he is, right from the beginning. Her people know magic, the kind accessible to humans and the kind Other beings use as easy as breathing, and Frederick is Other, no matter how hard he tries to be human. She thinks he believes it will bother her if she knows.

He is wrong.

His magic is interesting, and he is too, bright and strange and intriguing, and so scared of his own blazing self. Ataahua doesn’t know all of him, and it is abundantly clear that he doesn’t want her to. But she likes him, and in time she might love him, and she deserves the truth.

“I know you’re lying to me,” she says one morning, draped over his chest and drawing idle patterns across his chest. She feels the air freeze in his lungs. “I am not afraid,” she continues; “not of you, nor your magic. I am interested. And,” her eyes raising to his, “if we are to continue, I deserve the truth.”

Frederick stares and licks his lips nervously. “I… Ataahua, I…”

She smiles, kisses his collarbone. “I am not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” he whispers, voice gravel and jagged shards of porcelain.

“Why?”

Frederick shuts his eyes, and his skin heats up, and his eyes are gold when he re-opens them, and Ataahua stares. “I’m not… I’m not human.”

“I know.” Ataahua’s fingers dance along his skin, applying just the slightest pressure. “So what are you?”

“A son,” Frederick says, his hand wrapping around Ataahua’s wrist. “A forbidden creature. An ageless being.”

Ataahua looks him in the eye. “What is your name?”

“Aidan,” he breathes, and she kisses it off his lips.

* * *

Kaitlyn understands madness.

She hasn’t told anyone, but her father wasn’t the only problem her family had. Her mother had never been quite… sound… and sleeping with a demon was hardly unexpected. She talked of hearing the earth and seeing the wind, looking at people and seeing souls instead of faces, and Kaitlyn still doesn’t know whether her mother was telling the truth or not.

It doesn’t really matter. Maybe she was special, maybe she wasn’t, but either way, the things she (( _claimed to_ )) see drove her mad. (Or maybe she was mad from the beginning, stark raving crazy from birth, because she’d always told Kaitlyn that the colors and scents and sounds had been there forever.) Her mother was always crazy, and Kaitlyn was used to her murmuring nonsense and smearing paint and powders across walls and floors and skin before Kaitlyn could talk. It was normal.

She went to school, and it wasn’t normal.

Her brother knew more than she did. He knew, long before Kaitlyn did, that something(s) were shattered and crushed in their mother’s mind(soul), that whatever she was experiencing was something she wasn’t meant to have.

 _We experience the world the way we do because that’s the way we’re made, Katie_ , he’d told her when she was five, holding her in his lap and staring into her eyes, both of them hiding in a dark cupboard because Mama was painting the rooms again and if they messed up the colors they’d be punished. _She has things she isn’t meant to have, Katie. The colors and the sounds and the smells- she isn’t meant to have them. She’s not supposed to have them. No one is._

 _Why does she have them, then?_ Kaitlyn asked, blinking up at her brother, because he knew everything, even more than Mama did.

 _I don’t know, Katie,_ and he looked sad. _I think… I think something went wrong when she was born. I don’t think she was born right._ He cupped her face, rubbed his thumbs under her eyes. _There was something wrong with your dad, too, Katie._

Her eyes had gone wide. _Is there something wrong with_ me _?_

_((Of course, of course there is, because she’s the child of a demon and a madwoman, and she is wrong down to her DNA and she will never be right no matter how hard she tries, no matter what she does to make herself better, she will always be wrong and her brother would be ashamed to know her now, wouldn’t he))_

_Maybe_ , he told her, and hugged her. _But I’ll keep you safe, okay? If there is something wrong with you, I’ll protect you. I love you, Katie._

She didn’t understand, then.

(A few days later, she woke up with thick silver cables growing from her skull instead of brown hair, and a slender black cat tail with a white tip right at the base of her spine.

She’d cried, and her brother had stared at her like all his fears had come true.

And her mother’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she felt something spark in her chest, and her brother blinked and her mother looked in and nodded like everything was normal.

(Her mother never saw Kaitlyn unglamoured, but her brother did.))

She still doesn’t know what had snapped in her mother, even now with all the knowledge she has access to. If she told Aidan, he might know, but she hasn’t. Won’t.

Can’t.

* * *

When Kaitlyn was thirteen, her mother stripped her naked, painted her body, and locked her in a closet for the whole day. She’d screamed and pounded on the door, shaking with fear and anger and cold, yelling her brother’s name.

He never came.

The person who pulled her out was a older man in a blue uniform, and he wrapped her winter coat around her body and told her she needed to go somewhere new.

She looked past him, at the other three strangers standing in the middle of the living room. Her mother was on the floor, screaming awful things and struggling against their hands and their shining metal cuffs as they spoke calmly and coldly.

There was an unmoving lump against the opposite wall, covered in a bedsheet. The white cloth was soaked in scarlet and a pair of dark gray sneakers with red laces were poking out underneath.

“What did she do?” Kaitlyn asked.

The policeman shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He bit his lip, glanced down at her quickly. “Look, I’d tell you to get dressed, but the paint might have a significance…”

“It does,” Kaitlyn said blankly. Her brother was under a bloody sheet, and her mother was being arrested, and she was cold and painted in her mother’s delusions and her hair was cold and heavy on her neck. Her tail pressed up against her spine, just hidden under her coat. “If I tell you, can I put pants on?”

The policeman nodded, and Kaitlyn ran.

She pulled on a shirt and jeans, emptied out her schoolbag and stuffed in some more clothes and the bracelet her brother gave her for her birthday, and climbed out the window and down the fire escape. The paint was dry on her body, and mostly hidden by her clothes; she pulled the hood of her coat over her face, hiding the red and peach and gold and amber swirling across her face, and ran.

* * *

Her mother was exonerated by reason of insanity.

Kaitlyn crumpled up the newspaper and set it on fire, and left the city.

Their apartment burned seven years later. Kaitlyn’s never gone back to that part of the city.

She couldn’t throw her brother a public funeral without the police finding her, so she stole his body from the morgue and burned it.

She has his ashes in a safe place, and she knows that it’s creepy and unhealthy, but she needs him with her in some capacity.

(She worries sometimes, whether she takes more after her father or her mother, and she hopes it’s her father.)

((She hopes more that it’s her brother, but she’s never going to know, because all she ever saw of her brother was a terrified boy doing his best to protect her, and she doesn’t protect anyone but Aidan, and she will never know her brother more than that, and sometimes that knowledge makes her scream into her pillow.))

(((Every once in a while, she hopes she takes after Aidan. Then she remembers Kaage.)))

* * *

Sarah meets Madden when she is 95 and he 103. They meet at a warlock gathering, a yearly thing where young warlocks on the end of their human lifetimes go to disappear from their suspicious towns and meet others of their kind and run away to a new place. Madden is wandering around the grounds, looking bewildered; Sarah recognizes something in him, in the set of his eyes and the fall of his hair and the dark shimmer of his skin, and she jogs over to him.

“Hello,” she says. “I’m Sarah. What is your name?”

He looks at her, eyes wide for reasons she doesn’t yet know. “I’m, I’m Madden.”

They shake hands, and for the rest of her life, Sarah will feel the current of electricity that first contact sends down her spine to pool, hot and liquid and dangerous, in her gut.

She stares at him. “Do we know each other?”

Madden stares back. “I do not think so.”

She smiles and rearranges their hands so their hands are wrapped together. She squeezes his fingers in hers. “Well, I’d like to know you.”

Madden swallows, and squeezes back. “I could say the same to you.”

They smile at each other, his more hesitant and anxious, and Sarah leads them away to a less public area.

* * *

They’re kissing an hour later.

* * *

And three hours after that, an old warlock woman takes one look at them and tells them who their father is, and the warm pit of liquid electricity in Sarah’s stomach turns, very abruptly, into ice.

Madden drops her hand.

* * *

They barely touch each other again for the next four months they know each other.

They kiss again- on the forehead, from Madden, and to the cheek from Sarah- a year after they meet.

They kiss on the mouth again three weeks after Liam takes them under his wing, and then Sarah’s hands are crawling under Madden’s shirt and she’s whispering harshly against his mouth, _it’s only half_ and _he’s a demon it isn’t so bad_ and _fuck it, Madden, fuck it all_ and _I don’t fucking care just let me touch you, let me kiss you, I don’t_ care _anymore,_ and he takes her wrists in his big hands and mouths across her collarbone.

They emerge three hours later. Liam is out, and Sarah sighs and shuts her eyes and leans into Madden’s chest.

“I don’t regret it.”

Madden is quiet for a long time.

“I don’t want to regret it.”

“Then don’t.”

“But-”

“Madden,” she turns around and spreads her hand across his chest. “It’s your choice. Do not let them make it for you. _You_ decide what to feel.”

Madden’s quiet again, staring at her hand. Then, slowly, after a long while: he cups her face, kisses her forehead, and walks away, back to their shared room.

Sarah lets out a long, shaking breath, and slides down the wall onto the floor. She cries, and she smiles, because that is as close to saying yes as he is ever going to get. 

* * *

Sarah and Madden Adler.

Sarah’s forgotten her original last name. She’s been going by Madden’s for more than a century, and most of the time when they’re alone, she pretends she got it by marrying him instead of being born of the same father.

She has a silver ring, bought in Italy, out of Madden’s sight. It has a simple inscription inside, written in German.

(She thinks, sometimes, that she should have added Liam into the inscription. She thinks it more after he gives them his blessing. 

* * *

They are attacked by a dark-haired man with the bluest eyes Sarah’s ever seen. He slams her head into a wall and she doesn’t wake up for a week.

Two weeks after that, she and Madden are saying goodbye to Liam- _Aidan, his name is Aidan, you need to remember that-_ and his new ‘companion’, Rhia, the mundane with faerie blood and the Sight.

“I’ll see you again,” Lia- _Aidan_ promises, and Sarah nods, and Madden does nothing.

* * *

Clary hasn’t decided what to say by the time she gets to the Institute. Her head is a mess of thoughts and feelings and memories, and she can’t quite tell whether the person in her thoughts is Simon or Aidan.

(It needs to be Aidan for them to understand, but she needs to be sure of his identity herself first to talk about him.)

She squeezes Simon’s _(Aidan’s)_ phone, staring up at the doors, and before she realizes it, she’s texting Kaitlyn.

_What do I say?_

She bites her lip, staring at the screen. The message bubble pops up.

_As much as you think is needed. They need to understand, but if they’re afraid of him, they might interfere._

Clary wants to argue. Wants to say, _They won’t fear him._

But she doesn’t know her own reaction to a fresh-from-Hell Aidan, much less her friends’. She knows the conditions that come with being Aidan Morningstar’s anchor; if she has to keep them out, she will, because she promised the moment she found out who he is and she will not break that promise.

She swallows, slips the phone into her pocket, and knocks on the door.

Jace opens it. “Clary,” he says, and Clary can’t meet his eyes. “Alec and Magnus are here. Can you…” He sounds oddly vulnerable. Clary swallows.

“I… I can try to explain,” she hedges, “but you need to suspend your disbelief and not hurt the visitors.”

“Visitors?”

“There’s… um, Ai-Simon’s… some friends of Simon’s are coming later, to help. Don’t hurt them.”

“Why would we hurt them?”

“You’ll see.”

Clary doesn’t answer further, slipping past Jace and into the Institute. Isabelle is coming down the stairs; Clary is faced with scared dark eyes and torn black gear and the scar on Isabelle’s leg to remind Clary what Simon did in Edom, and Clary’s lungs freeze for a moment.

“Clary?” Isabelle asks, soft and worried and hurt, and Clary feels something inside her crack under the weight of the knowledge she carries. Her knees buckle.

“Clary!” Jace yells, and Clary’s falling, and the last thing she sees are her boyfriend’s gold eyes, bright with concern, and then her eyes shut and she’s gone.

* * *

“Why are you here?” Aidan asks Rhia one night, sitting on the opposite edge of the bed and staring her in the eyes. “Why haven’t you left?”

Rhia looks back at him, dark eyes kind. He’s told her so many things, and he’s given her a pendant, and he’s protective of her. That is why he stays. But confusion is clear in his eyes, and she knows she has to answer, no matter how she’s been trying to avoid this conversation.

“Why do you think?” she hedges.

He leans forward, reaches out, rubs an unglamoured thumb under her eye. His eyes are lambent gold, his scars thick and ropy on his arms, his sigils glittering distractingly. He keeps eye contact, and Rhia remembers what he’d whispered into her hair a month or three ago, how her eyes are the color of the wet banks of the Nile after a flood; how they reminded him of the good parts of his home.

(Egypt, the old empire, will always be his home no matter what he tries to convince himself.)

“I have an idea,” he breathes against her cheek. “But I don’t know if I want to be right.”

Rhia smiles at him, soft and sad. “Then why are you asking?” 

Aidan swallows; she watches his throat move, and traces her fingers along the ridge of his collarbone. “Because what I want isn’t the important thing.”

Rhia laughs, and it’s only a little bitter. “Isn’t it?”

She pulls away, and puts out the light, and slips under the blanket. She knows when Aidan’s glamour comes back up by the disappearance of his sigils and the dimming of his glowing eyes; he is Liam again.

Liam doesn’t speak, merely joins her under the blanket and wraps an arm around her waist, and Rhia breathes because it’s easy and harmless and useless.

* * *

It’s hard, sometimes, for Clary to understand the people in Simon Lewis’s skin. Some of them are wonderful, like Liam, who’s like the father she never had (and who shifts into the glamour of an older man, so she’s not as uncomfortable as she might be otherwise); or Niko, with his dry sense of humor and fierce independence and fascinating stories (though she can’t bring up the name Cora or he gets quiet and cold and withdrawn in the blink of an eye); or Tim, who’s so soft and kind with her, gentle for the most part and talkative when she wants him to be.

She’s met Aidan- the real, single, original Aidan- a few times. He’s… he’s solemn, and it’s hard for him to speak any language, and he stares out at the world like it’s a terrific risk. His eyes are bright and pretty, and his sigils glitter softly, and his scars are rough and awful. He lets her touch them, when he appears; they sit in silence for the most part, her fingers running gently over all the marks on his skin, and he watches her with somber eyes. They speak only occasionally.

But then… then there are others: ones who’ve never told her their names; ones who watch her with distrust or suspicion or intrigue (or lust, but Simon’s promised he will never touch her); ones with shattered-glass eyes and scars reaching down to their soul and mind, and hands that tremble when they think of tenderness but are steady as anything when they’re covered with blood.

Those… those, Clary fears. And none more than the one she’s never met, and hopes will never meet- Kaage.

The Shadow. The demon, the literal darkness of Aidan, repressed and hated fiercely by all the others and each anchor Aidan’s told her of. The one who belongs to Lucifer.

Clary is afraid of Kaage; very, very afraid. She does not understand him, she does not know what he looks like, and she does not ever want to meet him.

But… she may not have a choice in the matter, and she knows it. 

* * *

Clary wakes up in the infirmary, to her dismay. She groans and lets her head drop back into the pillow.

“Clary?”

She groans again.

“Alec,” she says, forcing herself to sit up and confront the situation. “No offense, but why are you here?”

Alec’s mouth twitches. It’s been so hard to trust him, but seeing him sitting at her bedside, there is no twinge of fear or suspicion. Clary is… fairly certain that’s a good thing. “Jace is… with Isabelle, and Magnus is opening a Portal.”

Clary blinks. “Why?”

“We got a fire message, from those ‘friends’ you mentioned. Asking for entrance to the Institute.” Alec shrugs. “We decided to let them in.”

Clary winces. “They’re not here yet, are they?”

“No.”

Clary nods, swings her legs out of bed, and stands up. She doesn’t wobble, to her satisfaction. “Good. I need to greet them.”

Alec gets up, walking after her as she strides to the door. “Clary, wait. What’s going on? Who are they? What… What did Simon do?”

Clary pauses, hand on the door handle, back to Alec. “ _Simon_ didn’t do anything,” she says. “And… it’s a very, very long story.”

She opens the door and walks quickly down the hallway, toward the sound of voices. She recognizes Magnus’ and walks faster.

She walks into the library to find a Portal already set up, Magnus muttering in front of it and Jace and Isabelle curled around each other on a sofa. Isabelle’s eyes are red and Jace is frowning. Both their gazes shoot to Clary when she walks in. Jace carefully untangles himself from Isabelle and goes over to her, eyes worried. “You alright?”

Clary nods tensely, watching Magnus and the steady glow of the opening Portal. “‘M fine, Jace. Just… worried.”

Jace doesn’t reply, just slips his hand into hers. She takes it gratefully.

Her phone vibrates- no, not hers, Aidan’s. She slips it out of her pocket and checks the message notification: _Is the Portal ready?_

 _Yes,_ Clary replies.

A few seconds later, a young woman is stepping out of the Portal. She’s clearly a warlock, with her thick silver hair bound up in buns and black cat’s tail curling up from the back of her jeans. She glances around at the Nephilim and Magnus and turn to call back, “You can come through!” She takes a few quick steps back in anticipation of the couple that stumble out of the Portal a few moments later, hands clasped and faces guarded. They look similar, with dark skin and mossy eyes, but the woman’s hair is inky-blue dark and the man’s is blonde. Clary feels power from them, too.

The first woman walks over to Clary and holds out her hand. “I’m Kaitlyn Monedha,” she says, and Clary shakes her hand. “Rhia can’t come yet. She’ll be over as soon as she can.”

Clary lets go and looks over at the other two. “And you are…”

“What, he hasn’t talked about us?” the woman says wryly. She comes over and shakes Clary’s hand as well. “I’m Sarah Adler. This is my husband, Madden.” Madden takes Clary’s hand after his wife does, mouth pressed shut and eyes wary. Clary doesn’t blame him; he’s surrounded by Nephilim in the middle of their Institute, most warlocks would probably be at least a little nervous. Magnus is the exception, and even he wasn’t this trusting before Alec went public and- and Edom.

Clary manages a smile. “Clary Morgenstern, as I’m sure you already know.”

Kaitlyn chuckles. “He talked about you all the time.”

“Who are these people, exactly?” Jace asks, stepping forward to stand at Clary’s side. Madden backs away.

Clary frowns at her boyfriend. “You just heard their names.”

Jace sighs. “I mean… why are they here?”

Clary glances at Kaitlyn and Sarah, guessing that Madden won’t be doing the talking. Kaitlyn swallows, crosses her arms, and shifts to a wider stance; Sarah fits herself to Madden’s side and watches Kaitlyn.

“We’re here to retrieve our friend,” Kaitlyn says simply.

Magnus cocks an eyebrow. “He’s in Edom, and all the doors in and out are closed. Not sure how you’re going to accomplish that without a Greater Demon’s help.”

Kaitlyn shakes her head and fishes under her shirt collar, coming up with a glass pendant. Hers is shaped like a swan, neck curling around the chain; the glow is black as ink, and makes her hand look smudged with coal. “No. He isn’t in Edom. Not anymore.”

Sarah and Madden pull out theirs as well: Madden’s is an intricately petaled rose, and Sarah’s a clenched fist. Ebony light spills from the center of the flower and the spaces between the blown-glass fingers. Air shakes in and out of Clary’s lungs as she checks her own: the paintbrush has gone nighttime dark.

Magnus’ eyes light up in interest. “What _are_ those?”

“Not sure exactly,” Kaitlyn admits. “I call them tokens, but I don’t know if they have a proper name. They… they’re keyed to Ai- to _his_ wellbeing.” Her fingers tighten around the swan’s body. “Black means he’s… somewhere deeper than Edom. Somewhere closer.” She releases the swan, letting it fall against her neck. “We can get him from there. We’ve done it before.”

“ _Where_?” It’s Isabelle, sitting upright on the sofa, fists clenched by her sides. “Where did Asmodeus take him?”

Clary swallows. She can’t say it, can’t force the word past her lips. “He… he took him to his father.”

Jace’s eyebrows furrow. “I thought you said his father is dead.”

Clary shakes her head, looking at no one. The truth buzzes in her ears. “No. Mr Lewis is dead. He died when I was eight. Simon isn’t his son.”

“Clary. Please.” Isabelle’s staring right at her. “Please, just… tell us what’s going on.”

Isabelle Lightwood does not beg.

Clary takes a deep breath. She looks at Kaitlyn and Sarah, but all three warlocks know it has to be Clary, and she knows too.

“Simon… Simon isn’t… real,” she starts, voice shaky. “Simon Lewis is a construct. A personality in someone else’s head. He was created to be my friend when I was two years old.”

Isabelle is staring at her, eyes glassy. Magnus’s mouth is twisted. She can’t see Jace.

“Simon… Simon is the latest in a long line of alternate personalities in his head,” Clary continues, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Kaitlyn and Sarah and Madden know him from… before.”

“I knew a man named Niko.” Kaitlyn’s voice is soft. “He was my friend. He helped me. I met Sarah and Madden at their wedding.”

Sarah takes Madden’s hand. “We met Liam Môrester when we were young. He mentored us, kept us under his wing, and helped us get together.”

Magnus is the one to speak. “How old is he?”

Clary’s fists clench.

“We aren’t sure,” Sarah sighs. “He isn’t sure.”

“Got an estimate?” Jace’s voice is tight. Clary is afraid to look at him, though she can feel the heat of his body at her back.

“Roughly… five thousand,” Kaitlyn whispers.

Isabelle makes a sound like she’s been punched. Magnus’ eyes are huge.

“What is his name?”

Clary’s head whips around. Alec is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets. A thought occurs to her before she can answer; she looks back at Kaitlyn and the Adlers. Madden’s hands are glowing slightly, and Kaitlyn’s tail curls like an alert cat’s. Clary moves to obscure their view of Alec. “He’s not a danger.”

Madden looks at her. “How are you sure?”

Clary swallows, feeling her friends’ eyes on her back. “ _He_ was.” That’s the best she can say, that Aidan trusted Alec to not kill him, but it seems to be enough, since Madden nods, slowly. His hands dim.

Clary looks back at Alec. “What did you say?”

Alec’s eyes are unreadable. He walks into the room to stand beside Magnus. “I asked what his name is. His… his original name.”

The three warlocks and Clary wince. “We’re not supposed to say,” Kaitlyn explains. “It’s knowledge he entrusts to those he finds worthy of it. There are five people on this earth who know that information; I’m not going to tell you without him giving me the go-ahead.” Clary and the Adlers nod, though it hurts Clary to keep it from Jace.

Magnus swallows. “Okay. You can’t tell us much about him.” They nod. “What can you tell us? I need some idea of what you’re here for; you _are_ in my territory, to retrieve… someone who saved my life.”

Kaitlyn glances at Clary.

“Like Kaitlyn said, they’re here to bring him back,” Clary replies. “I’m here because I’m the current- the current anchor,” she can’t find a way to avoid the phrase, “and that means my presence is required.”

“We’ll have to wait for Rhia,” Kaitlyn says quietly. “She knows how it went last time. They used her token. And… and she deserves to be here.”

Clary nods, supporting Kaitlyn’s statement. “Kaitlyn has an apartment here, I think, so they’ll be staying there for however long it takes Rhia to arrive and get the ceremony set up.”

“Ceremony?” Magnus asks.

Clary nods, but it’s Sarah who replies. “We’re using a modified demon-summoning ritual to get him back into this dimension.” She shrugs. “It… didn’t work very well last time. We’ve tweaked it since; now we’ll see if what we did are improvements.”

Clary breathes, inout inout inout. “Okay. Are we good?”

Magnus hesitates. Alec nods.

“If that’s all you can say, I think we’re done for now,” he allows. Clary bites her lip and glances at Kaitlyn.

“Can I…” She gestures helplessly at Alec. “Explain why…?”

Kaitlyn and the Adlers exchange looks. After a long few moments, Kaitlyn nods.

“We’ll be on our way,” she says decisively. “I’ll call you when Rhia arrives,” she says to Clary, and ducks through the Portal. Sarah and Madden follow quickly after her.

Clary is left with her friends and boyfriend all staring at her. She raises a hand.

“I know this is a lot to take in. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you anything before, but I agreed to secrecy when he told me who he is, and that commitment comes first.” She looks at Alec and Magnus. “Alec, there are some… complications… about you in this situation. Rhia won’t trust you when she arrives, and might possibly try to kill you. I can explain more if you want… in private.”

Alec nods, glancing at Magnus. “That would be appreciated, I think.”

Clary nods and walks out the door. “Follow me.”

She walks back into the infirmary and shuts the door behind Alec and Magnus, who followed him, and sits on the edge of one of the beds. Magnus and Alec settle on the one facing her; the backs of their hands brush, but they don’t hold hands. The tension between them is still there, and Clary hopes they work everything out.

Clary takes a deep breath. “Si- A- _He_ ,” she stumbles, “is… kind of a big deal, in the grand scheme. He’s… he’s very powerful, and… not on the side of the angels, most of the time.”

“He’s a warlock,” Magnus extrapolates.

Clary nods. “The oldest of all. Yeah. He has a very powerful dad, and very powerful demonic relatives… and he’s pissed off basically all of them. Including Lilith and Asmodeus.” She shakes her head. “But I’m getting off track. So… because of his… heritage, and probably his attitude as well, someone up high- or possibly down below, I’m not entirely sure- decided that the regular problems of warlock life weren’t enough. They wanted to punish him for something or another.” Clary shrugs. “Not like it’s hard to pick something, I mean he’s not exactly a do-gooder sometimes and his father is really, really awful, so I can sort of see where they might be coming from.” She shakes her head. “Anyway. They decided to send a supernatural tracker after him.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Alec asks.

“I’m getting there. This… hunter, if you will, is a supernatural being. He’s said it’s allied with Heaven, but it’s not an angel or Nephilim. Its only purpose is to kill… ‘Simon’, and it comes back every time he kills it.”

Magnus’ eyes are sympathetic. “Sounds pretty awful.”

“Yeah, it is. But… as for why Alec is involved… it always looks the same: black hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes.”

Alec blinks, looking down at himself. “...So they think I’m this thing?”

“It’s called a Bane,” Clary corrects. “And yeah.”

Alec huffs a laugh that is definitely not happy. “Seriously? I look just like it and I’m ex-boyfriends with a warlock with the last name _Bane_?”

Clary shrugs. “You see why they’re suspicious of you.”

Alec nods. He doesn’t actually look too upset or bitter about it. “Hey, if I had a quasi-immortal angelic hunter after me and he looked like someone I knew, I’d be pretty suspicious of that person too.” He pauses. “...Especially since it doesn’t seem like this guy has showed up since we met you guys…”

Clary nods. “I’ve never met the Bane. We’re both… kind of just waiting for it to arrive.” She smiles sheepishly. “That’s actually one of the reasons I didn’t like you at first. I thought you might hurt him.”

Alec nods, eyes understanding. “That’s fair.”

Clary pauses. “...you’re taking this really well.”

Alec shrugs. “I’m still kind of drunk, actually.” He sways slightly toward Magnus unconsciously before pushing himself back upright. “I’m sure I’ll freak out more once I sober up, but right now, nothing is really too jarring.”

Clary’s not sure whether to be grateful or worried. She hadn’t really thought about all the wine Alec had been drinking in Edom, and Magnus doesn’t seem too happy.

“How much did you have?” he asks. Alec shrugs.

“Not sure. Lost track.”

Magnus’s eyebrows scrunch together. Clary sighs and gets up.

“Look, I think this is enough for today. Magnus, why don’t you head home. I’m done.”

She walks out, getting a last glance of Alec and Magnus staring at each other. She really hopes they work things out, and preferably get back together. She’s not sure why they split in the first place, but it’s obvious they’re still in love.

(And if she’s avoiding thinking about Aidan by thinking about Magnus and Alec, well, that’s no one’s business but her own.)

* * *

Corrin has never wanted to get involved in a _war_. Tim’s told her awful stories, eyes dark with memories, and she decided rather young that she wanted nothing to do with them. She’s fiery, sure, and she likes fighting when the other person deserves a punch to the face or a kick to the groin, but she doesn’t fight without a provably good cause. And she’s never wanted to _kill_ anyone.

But… but now…

Tim’s explained what’s happening, that the holes in the world that let demons in from their dimensions have widened, meaning more demons are coming in quicker. People are being killed faster than the demons are and the body count is piling up; half of Corrin and Tim’s village is dead. Corrin hates demons, sure, but she is sixteen. She’s still in training. She’s not _ready_ to fight them.

But then, she’s out walking along the outskirts of the village, sparks cupped in her palms just in case, and she sees a young boy running across the ice fields towards them. Her eyes widen and she starts walking toward him. He sees her, and his mouth opens; his voice drifts across the frozen expanse. “Help me, please!”

She speeds up, magic gathering thicker around her fingers. His eyes widen further at the orange glow of her hands, but whatever is making him sound this scared is more important right now. It might be better for mundanes to know of the Downworlders in their midst at this point.

There’s a roar beneath him. Corrin freezes in shock, hands coming up to protect her torso, as the ice cracks underneath him and something slams up. The boy screams as he’s tossed into the air; the hulking creature opens its mouth- Corrin sees flashes of huge teeth- and tips its head back, and, and,

It swallows the boy whole.

Corrin doesn’t realize she’s screaming until the pain in her throat makes her stop. She doesn’t realize she’s on her knees until the cold is biting into them. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the droplets freeze on her face.

It subsides into the water, huge sheets of ice slipping back into place over where it disappeared. Nothing is left to show the boy was ever there, and the only indication of the demon is the cracked ice.

Corrin stumbles home, uncaring of the frozen drops on her face. Tim wraps her in his arms as soon as he sees her and lets her cry into his shirt.

“Teach me to fight,” she whispers against his shoulder once she’s run out of tears. Tim stiffens up and she feels his lungs stop, but then he breathes, and he doesn’t say no.

* * *

Clary still isn’t sure whether or not it was a dream.

Simon was sleeping over, and he and she were in separate rooms because Jocelyn was sure Simon had _intentions_ toward her and had no intention of letting them be in the same bed. (Simon’s told her that he’s pretty sure Jocelyn suspects his true identity, and really, Clary can see where her mother is coming from if that’s the case.) She’d gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and then walked downstairs to get a glass of water.

She’d seen a soft glow in the living room as she approached. She figured it was Simon and pressed against the wall, some instinct telling her to not interrupt. She’d peeked into the room and seen Aidan standing in the middle of the room, hands outstretched and lit up brightly, sigils spinning and shining on his skin: he was unglamoured. Clary’s breath caught at the sight of him, luckily quiet enough that he missed the small sound, and shifted against the wall to hide herself more. Even though he wasn’t facing her, she wasn’t risking discovery.

Aidan had murmured something, and then there was another light in the room, blue and gold and white, a swirling orb the size of a stress ball, floating in front of Aidan. Clary saw the edge of his smile as he reached out to grasp it, and his already lit up skin was encased in new light, streaks winding up along his arms and curling over his neck and swirling over his face. He dissolved into it, into the nearly blinding starlike glow of the little orb, and then the light winked out and Aidan was gone.

Clary doesn’t know how long she stayed there, frozen. But eventually she gathered herself and moved on to the kitchen, getting her glass and slipping back upstairs without waking her mother.

In the morning, Simon was in his borrowed bed. But the glass was still sitting on Clary’s bedside table.

And now it’s three years later, and Clary still doesn’t know what parts of the whole experience were real.

* * *

* * *

_“We won’t survive this, you know.”_

_“I know. I’ve known since I signed up for this mess.”_

* * *

_“Why the hell are you still here?”_

_“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”_

* * *

* * *

Catarina grows up protected. She knows now that she was lucky, knows that parents who protect and love their half-demon child are rare. She knows Ragnor is equally grateful to his parents for keeping him, even if they did believe him to be a faerie. She knows that Magnus absolutely will not talk about his upbringing, and she doesn’t push him.

But growing up with mundanes did have setbacks. It wasn’t until she entered the world of Downworlders that she learned even the basics of warlock history… and obviously, that history included the tale of the First.

There are some arguments among the warlock scholars about whether he was actually the First and whether he really counts. But no one can find anything about someone coming before him, and he fits the criteria for warlock, so pretty much everyone accepts Aidan Morningstar as the First Warlock.

Catarina still remembers the first time she’d heard his story. She was sixteen, at a gathering of warlocks in a nearby city, and she was soaking up all the knowledge she could. Then someone had tapped her shoulder.

She turned. It was a woman, with thick, shining hair pinned up on her head. Her eyes were silver, and as she smiled at Catarina, Catarina saw that her teeth were made of alabaster. She looked closer: the woman had gills flapping gently on the sides of her neck, and her hair looked oddly stringy and tinged green in the light.

“You look quite young,” the woman said. “Are you?”

Catarina nodded. “Yes, I’m sixteen.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Well! I assume you’re here for the culture, then.”

Catarina nodded, fiddling with a strand of her hair. “Yes, I… I don’t know much. I want to learn.”

The woman smiled. “Has anyone told you the story of the First?”

Catarina blinked. “No.” It sounded interesting, not in the least because of the soft note of reverence when the woman said ‘First’. Catarina could hear the capital letter.

The woman smiled. “My name is Peshke,” she said. “I will tell you the story.”

Catarina sat on the ground, and Peshke sat next to her, and began to speak.

“No one knows whether it was the faeries or the warlocks who came first,” she started. “But we do know who the First Warlock was.” She smiled slightly. “His name was Aidan Morningstar.”

Catarina blinked. “Morningstar? Like- like _Lucifer_?”

Peshke nodded. “Yes. The First was the son of Lucifer and a young Egyptian woman. Lilith had a hand in his creation as well; that is why she is called the Mother of Warlocks, though the other species do not know that. Aidan is… Aidan is a secret only we know.” She smiled. “He was the most powerful of us all. He was born… oh, thousands of years ago. No one is sure when the next one was born, but… Aidan disappeared after only about a hundred years.”

Catarina gaped. “Did he die?”

Peshke smiled like she was in on a private joke. “No one knows. He simply… vanished. His name never showed up again in history. But… there is also no record of his death.” She leaned back, little secretive smile still in place. “He might still be alive. No one knows for certain. What we do know, though,” and her smile shifted into something softer, awed; “is that he had power unknown by common warlocks. He fought angels and won; he survived forty years in the largest desert in the world; and he was the First of our kind.”

Catarina was quiet for a long time. “What do you think happened to him?”

Peshke’s face was smooth and still. “Honestly, little one… I am not sure.” Her eyes were far away. “But… I think… I think his destiny caught up with him, and I think he ran.” She shook herself and smiled slightly at Catarina, getting up. “I hope you enjoy yourself here, little girl,” she said, and vanished into the crowd before Catarina could gather her wits.

Catarina has never forgotten Aidan’s story, or any of the variations she’d heard from other people. She has a mild need to know what happened to him; he fascinates her, for reasons even she doesn’t know. (It probably has something to do with the sheer lack of detail about his life and his possible death, but there’s something deeper that honestly, she doesn’t really want to delve into.)

Ragnor has heard the stories too. He admits to her, once, that “I’d really like to know what happened to him, you know… I just want to know, for certain, what made him disappear.”

Catarina looks him in the eyes and asks, “Do you think he’s alive?”

Ragnor’s quiet for a long time before he replies, “Maybe.”

* * *

Magnus calls Catarina at five in the afternoon, just as she gets off her shift. “What is it?” she asks, keeping the phone in the air as she grapples her gloves off.

Magnus is quiet for a long moment, and Catarina is about to ask again, but then- “I think- I think… I think he’s alive, Cat.”

“What? Who?” Ragnor, she hopes, but the tremble in Magnus’ voice isn’t joy, it’s… something else.

“And I know him, or part of him, god this is confusing and I don’t understand and I might be wrong but she said five thousand and ‘the oldest of all’ and I can’t think of anyone else who fits that description-”

 _Five thousand,_ and, _The oldest of all,_ and Catarina’s lungs freeze.

“Magnus. Who are you talking about?”

Magnus takes a deep breath. “I… I think… I found Aidan, Cat.”

Catarina’s gloves drop to the floor. So does her phone. 

* * *

Sarah, Rhia, and Madden stand in front of the summoning pentagram. Sarah swallows heavily and looks at Rhia. “Ready?”

Rhia nods and opens her hand, letting her cross drop. It falls for a few moments before Sarah’s magic wraps around it, a thin sheath of violet sparks holding it in midair. Rhia opens the book in her hands and begins chanting, pronunciation careful and precise. Madden’s eyes are lit up lavender as he pours magic into maintaining the pentagram and protective measures while Sarah uses Rhia’s words as the pathway. She touches the spark of magic held inside the glass cross and pushes, reaches, _stretches_ -

And _finds,_ and _grabs_ -

“Got him,” she gasps. Rhia doesn’t stop, but her smile is hesitantly bright. Madden’s mouth twitches upward.

As Rhia continues chanting, pouring her own strength into the spell, Sarah tightens her grasp on Aidan and starts to pull. It feels like she’s trying to pull the Earth out of orbit; she’s gasping and sweating and shaking, and Aidan isn’t even moving toward her.

Madden’s hand lands on her shoulder. Rhia’s fangs drop out of her mouth and she continues speaking around them, eyes scarlet and desperate. Sarah _yanks_.

Aidan _moves_ , and somewhere, Sarah hears chains snapping and a roar of shock.

Aidan slams toward her and she stumbles back, Madden’s hand dropping from her shoulder and Rhia’s voice stuttering-

 _Shit_ , she thinks, as the pentagram flickers-

Aidan stands in the pentagram, but it’s not _Aidan_ : his eyes are bloody crimson, his smile is as sharp as a blade, and his sigils are bright as stars and as red as his eyes. He looks drenched in blood.

Madden freezes. Rhia’s voice shakes around his name: “ _Kaage_.”

Kaage’s head whips toward her, smirk curling over his mouth, hand reaching up to grab the glass cross- now glowing clearly ruby- still floating in the cocoon of Sarah’s magic-

Sarah’s hands shake as she yanks the cross away, through the pentagram wall. It lands in her palm and she clenches her fist around it.

“ _No_ ,” she says.

Kaage disappears.

Rhia yelps. “Where did you send him?”

Sarah’s trembling, staring at where he’d been just a moment ago. “I… I don’t…”

“You don’t _know_?” Rhia’s voice is quickly getting less startled and more angry.

Sarah shakes her head. “He’s, he’s somewhere here. On Earth. But… I don’t know more than that.”

Rhia lets out a long breath. “You just set him free on the world.”

Madden’s fingers lace through Sarah’s. “At least he’s not targeting us.” Madden’s forehead crinkles in pain as he speaks.

Rhia closes her eyes, not noticing the little tell. “Give me my necklace.”

Sarah does. Rhia walks out the door.

Sarah’s knees give out and she sinks down onto the floor. Madden goes with her, releasing her hand to wrap his arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“We’ll deal with it,” Madden promises, voice hoarse. Sarah brushes her fingers comfortingly over his throat.

* * *

Magnus heard the story of the First from his father- his real father.

It’s not an experience he likes to remember, but Aidan’s tale… that, he doesn’t mind remembering. Aidan Morningstar is fascinating in his own right, but the note of derision and hatred in Asmodeus’ voice when he talked about Aidan spoke of something deeper, something _personal_ , between the two of them.

And then there’s the thing Magnus has never told anyone. (He’s wanted to, but something kept his mouth shut.) The thing about the magic.

Being the son of a Prince of Hell comes with special ‘benefits’. One of those is a recognition of different warlocks’ magic signatures. Catarina’s magical signature is very different from Ragnor’s or Magnus’ own.

He has run into the same magic signature several times over the course of his life, but it’s not tied to the same person. When he’s young, walking through a rainforest and trying to avoid fire ants, he finds a trail of bleeding magic leading off somewhere deeper. The warlock’s been injured, and as Magnus reaches to touch it, it burns his fingers: the warlock is powerful, male, and… not well in more ways than the physical. Magnus doesn’t pursue the trail.

The second time is years later, in the early 1800s. In the aftermath of the massive influx of demons and the decimation of Downworlders as a result, Magnus is traveling around and reassuring himself that not everyone is dead. He heads into Canada, armed with warming spells, fashionable coats and scarves, and an assurance that he means no harm to the people he comes across. Almost everyone he meets is mistrustful, but he understands. They’re survivors of a war they had no idea of until it came to them; they’re justified in not trusting a young man with demon’s eyes.

Eventually, he wanders into a half-rebuilt village surrounded on three sides by ice fields. The people are quiet and tired, but everyone has stories to tell him. Some of them are more interesting than most, especially the ones about the warlock _family_ that lived on the outskirts.

“We always knew there was somethin’ different about them,” an older woman says. She fiddles with the bandage that had been wrapped over her eye until Magnus healed it. “Tim- that’s his name, Timothy Denica- he healed people, when they asked. They’d go to him with burns and cuts and frozen half to death, and they’d come home rosy-cheeked and running.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t believe it. I thought he was some kind of con man. But my sister went.” She pulls on another woman’s sleeve. “Rosy, you tell him.”

‘Rosy’ smiles at Magnus. She’s younger than her sister, with curly brown hair and gentle eyes that are less scarred than her sister’s. “I’d cut my arm badly on the ice when I fell in. My husband carried me to him, and he laid me on a bed and put his hands on my head.” She shakes her head. “I was shivering something awful. I couldn’t talk, could hardly see through the icicles on my lashes, but I could hear Robbie begging him to help.” She rubs her arm. “I… I saw gold. Gold light, warm and wonderful.” Her smile is soft with remembered awe. “Robbie was so happy. Tim smiled and didn’t let us pay him, just said to remember that his services were available.”

Rosy’s sister nods. “I hardly believed her. But Robbie swore to it.”

Magnus nods along. “What happened to convince you?”

The woman quiets, winding a strand of her gray hair around her finger. “The war. He… Tim had a girl, you see. Named her Corrin.”

Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that traditionally a boy’s name?”

The woman shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. But, this girl, she weren’t his. She was… a girl from our village, she got into some trouble with a man. He got her pregnant and disappeared.” She shakes her head disapprovingly. “She… a few days after she birthed the baby, she gave her away. To Tim. We didn’t know why then, but she said there was something wrong with the baby girl. That her daddy was something wrong, and she figured Tim would fix her.” She smiles slightly. “Tim raised her, raised her good. She never went back to her momma.”

Magnus nods. _The system worked well here._ “And… the war…?”

Rosy and her sister look down. “Corrin died.”

Magnus blinks. “O-Oh.”

Rosy shakes her head, sadness clinging to her words. “Tim and Corrin were fighting so hard… he stayed here to heal and she went off to fight, one day. She… we never saw her after, but… Tim, Tim... he watched her die.”

Magnus shuts his eyes.

“He hasn’t been the same.” The older sister’s voice is somber. “He hasn’t come out of his house since, since the last battle. We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

Magnus nods, slowly. “I… I could check, if…”

“Please,” Rosy says. “I… I owe him my life, I want to know if he’s alright.”

Magnus nods, and gets up.

He freezes within twenty yards of the house the sisters said is Tim Denica’s. It’s the same magic signature he felt in that rainforest, years ago. But… that was South America, and that was just decades ago. What happened?

 _The owner of that signature wasn’t well,_ he remembers. _How bad is he now?_

He touches the signature hesitantly, just enough to see if the owner is dead. He is not.

Magnus retreats to the village. “He’s alive.”

Rosy smiles. Her sister doesn’t, staring at the house.

“He may be breathing,” she mutters, “but he died with his girl.”

Magnus can’t find it in himself to argue.

The third time Magnus feels it, it’s more than a century later. He’s living in an apartment in New York and fighting with his one-night-stand.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he repeats tiredly yet again. The other guy just is not getting it, and while anger does make him even prettier, Magnus is not in the mood to deal with this. Eventually, he decides, _Fuck it,_ and simply throws the man out, shirtless and all.

He huffs and stalks away, revealing the man in the hallway to Magnus.

Magnus goes very still. Not from shame, oh no, Magnus has outgrown that. From shock.

_It’s the same fucking signature._

He’d never seen the man in the rainforest, nor Tim, but the sisters ( _what were their names?)_ had given him a rough description: messy reddish-brown hair, curling past his ears, and bright green eyes. He had freckles over his nose, one of them had said, and he was about six feet tall.

The man in front of Magnus has straight black hair and tanned skin and his emerald eyes are _agonized_. He looks nothing like the picture those sisters had drawn, but his magic is exactly the same.

Magnus wonders what’s causing his pain this time. He wonders why he always finds this man in moments of agony.

The man breaks eye contact and walks off down the hall. Magnus takes a deep, quiet breath, and closes his door.

* * *

When he meets Clary Fray for the very first time, he does feel touches of a familiar magic on the fringes of her mind. But Tessa had touched her first, and Jocelyn said she’d been given his information from a colleague, so he puts it aside.

He feels the beginning of a claim, roughly aborted, from the same source the first few times he wipes her mind of the Shadow World. But again, there’s not enough to really figure out whose it is, and he dismisses it.

* * *

The thing is, when he meets Simon Lewis, he doesn’t feel it. There’s something there, something bright and dangerous and fragile, but Magnus assumes the kid has faerie blood somewhere in him and leaves it at that. Besides, he was Turned, and Magnus has never heard of a warlock surviving that.

_((but really, if anyone is going to survive the Turning and keep their magic, it’s the First))_

So, no, Magnus didn’t suspect. If he had, things might have been different.

* * *

Rhia arrives at 2:47 in the morning. Clary doesn’t hear about it until 6:30.

“She’s here,” Kaitlyn says, and Clary gets out of bed with Simon’s phone on speaker.

“Your apartment?”

“We’ll meet at the Institute,” Kaitlyn says. “We should do the summoning somewhere else, though.”

Clary chews her lip as she changes out of her pajamas, tugging a shirt over her head as she suggests, “I could ask Magnus…”

Kaitlyn pauses. “Good idea.”

Clary nods before remembering Kaitlyn can’t see her. “Okay. I’ll be over as soon as I can be.”

“See you there.” Kaitlyn hangs up as Clary clasps her little glass paintbrush around her neck and tucks it under the collar of her shirt.

Clary swallows and walks downstairs. She’s glad her mother isn’t up yet, but she should leave a note or something…

She scribbles on a Post-It and sticks it on the fridge: _Gone to Institute, not sure when home. Call you when done._

Then she’s practically running out the door, little glass paintbrush warm against her collarbone.

* * *

Rhia sits on the floor of the sanctuary, hands folded in her lap, head dipped and eyes closed. She’d barely made it in before sunrise, and if she had a pulse, it would probably still be racing. Kaitlyn and the Adlers are talking, but she hasn’t heard Aidan’s name, so she’s ignoring them.

The door opens. A girl says, “Is this her?”

Rhia looks up.

The sun frames the girl in the doorway, red hair lit like a fiery halo, green eyes bright in an obscured face. She’s dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt and a leather Shadowhunter jacket, and there’s a seraph and a stele in her belt. Her eyes fall on Rhia, and she closes the door.

Rhia stands as the girl comes closer. “I’m Rhia,” she says, holding out her hand.

The girl takes it. “Clary Morgenstern,” she replies. “I’m the current anchor.”

Rhia cocks an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little young?”

Clary wrinkles her nose. “We’re friends.”

Rhia’s other eyebrow goes up, pretty much on principle- Aidan tends to fuck his anchors- but she nods and accepts it. It’s not unheard of, after all.

“He gave you a token, I presume?”

Clary nods, letting go of Rhia’s hand to fish the pendant out from under her shirt and holding it out to give Rhia a better view. It’s a tiny glass paintbrush, the tips of the bristles scarlet and the rest frosted silver.

“You’re an artist, then?” Rhia asks. Clary nods again.

“What’s yours?”

Rhia hesitates before slipping her fingers under the chain and pulling her token out into the faint light. The intricate little cross glows gold in the faintly-lit room. Clary stares at it.

“He made me a cross that would never burn,” Rhia says, hearing herself as though from a long way off.

Clary licks her lips and slips her paintbrush back under her shirt. “Sounds like him.”

Rhia smiles faintly and hides her cross away again, feeling the cool glass against her unbreathing chest. “Yes.”

There’s a knock on the interior door. Kaitlyn glances at Clary and Rhia before she opens it: It’s Isabelle.

“Is she here?”

Kaitlyn points to Rhia. Rhia gets to her feet as Isabelle approaches. They assess each other, one a young Shadowhunter with long black hair and flinty dark eyes and milky skin, the other a vampire with dark curls and brown skin and eyes the same hue as the banks of the Nile. Lover present, lover past.

Rhia smiles at Isabelle and holds out her hand. “Rhia.”

Isabelle licks her lips, meets Rhia’s eyes, and takes it. “Isabelle Lightwood. I’ve been told you’re here to get my boyfriend back.”

Rhia almost wants to laugh. _Oh, I_ like _this one. Aidan, your taste remains practically impeccable._ “I am,” she says instead. “With help, of course.”

Isabelle glances at Clary, lightning quick, and then back to Rhia. Her hand drops. “How is this going to work?”

Rhia takes a small step back and looks at the warlocks. They understand better than Rhia; she’d just chanted and donated her cross.

Sarah steps forward, flicking her thick hair over her shoulder. “We need a warded location, with enough space for us and a pentagram, and no trace of angelic… influence.” She glances upward. “Thus, here isn’t an option.”

Isabelle’s face is unreadable. “Is Magnus’ apartment good?”

Sarah nods. “I think so.” She swallows. “Either Kaitlyn or Clary will donate their token, as they’re the most recent ones to receive them, and Madden, I, and Kaitlyn will actually do the modified summoning ceremony.”

“Modified?”

“We changed a demonic summoning ritual,” Kaitlyn clarifies. Rhia nods, remembering all the work they’d put into it. “Instead of pulling out a demon, we get A-him.”

_Or whatever’s left of him by now._

“You’re leaving something out.”

Sarah nods, taking a fortifying breath. “He isn’t, isn’t always… himself, when he comes out. He… the place he goes-”

“Hell.” Isabelle’s voice is flat and blunt.

Sarah swallows. “Hell. It changes him. Rips at his soul. Shreds it out of him. We’re sure to get his body, but depending on how fast they’re working on him… we might miss part of his soul. It will come back eventually, but… with even part of it missing, he’s dangerous. Angry. Hurting. He will try to hurt people.” She bites her lip. “We’ve tried this before. It… didn’t go well. We, uh…”

“We unleashed a serial killer,” Rhia supplies bluntly.

Clary’s eyes widen, but Isabelle remains stoic. “Would Magnus be able to help?”

The three warlocks share looks.

“Probably,” Kaitlyn supplies. “He’d definitely be helpful in the protection department.”

Sarah nods. “Last time… we didn’t ward well. We were foolish, expecting him to be, well… not as bad as he was.”

“We expected _him_ ,” Rhia corrects, sliding easily into her role of truth-teller. “We got a demon in our friend’s body.”

Sarah winces.

“How big is the possibility of that happening?” Clary asks.

Sarah shrugs. “Not nearly as high. He’s been there for what, two days? Last time, he was there for months, our time.”

“Our time?”

“Time runs faster there,” Kaitlyn answers Isabelle.

Rhia claps her hands. All eyes jump to her. “Clary, Isabelle, why don’t you ask Magnus if we can set up in his place?” she suggests. “You three-” she gestures at the warlocks- “do whatever it is you do. I need a nap.”

Sarah snorts. She and Madden aren’t fooled, but the Nephilim certainly are, and if Kaitlyn sees through Rhia’s facade, she’s not letting it show. They filter out of the sanctuary one by one, and Rhia lies down on the floor with her coat balled up under her head. She shuts her eyes.

 _Aidan_ …

* * *

* * *

  _And the thing is, she knew this would happen. She knew it was coming, and she didn’t stop it, because the other alternatives were worse._

_Fingers close around her throat and the blade presses against her stomach, and she wheezes laughter out around his punishing grip, and he snarls._

_His red eyes are the last thing she ever sees._

* * *

_“What did you do?!“_

_“What she told me to.”_

* * *

_Golden-brown eyes burn into hers. “There is always a price, little Nephilim. Aidan’s been paying it for five thousand years, and he’ll keep paying it until the end.”_

_“Why?” she demands, anger burning through her icy fear. “Why him? Why does it have to be him?”_

_Her question is met with a smile. It’s not a nice smile, but there is no real malice, only… only soft pity and regret. “Oh, little Nephilim. I can’t tell you if you don’t understand.”_

* * *

_It was never meant to go this far._

_They had never meant to hurt him this much._

_It was never meant to end with so much tragedy._

_But they cannot take it back now._

* * *

* * *

 The thing that Aidan never seems to take into account is that the Bane isn’t a _person_ , exactly.

But then, how would he know? He’s only met the Bane once it has Awakened; he’s never met the vessel of the Bane while it still sleeps.

(At least, not until now.)

The Bane isn’t quite what he thinks it is. It’s not a reincarnating _person_ set on hunting him down the moment it returns from Beyond- no. The Bane is a Hell-sent _spirit_ , allied with Heaven, that is born into a mortal vessel and Awakens at some point during the vessel’s life. It shares the vessel with a mortal soul, but once the Bane Awakens, the soul will be forcibly put to sleep. Once Aidan has killed the Bane once more, both the Bane spirit and the soul of the vessel are freed and sent Beyond.

Aidan, of course, knows none of this. How could he, when no one has ever told him?

The Bane could, of course, but that is not its objective. There is no point in telling Aidan that the body the Bane uses used to belong to someone else, or that when Aidan ‘kills’ the Bane, he’s also killing an innocent soul.

((The Bane is not interested in Lucifer’s games of pain and mystery. Its purpose is to hinder and injure Aidan and anyone who gets in the way: nothing more, nothing less.)) 

* * *

She snaps her fingers, and then she’s there, standing in what used to be Simon’s room in the Lewis house. They breathe quietly, slowly, looking around and not moving, simply looking.

She takes deep breaths, and clenches her fists, and refuses to show regret or guilt. They’ve made awful mistakes, sure. But… she can change them, if they really want to.

((no they can’t that will ruin the story and god knows the story comes before everything else even their favorite creations even the ones they call their children _because they are_ and there’s really nothing they can do now but it makes them feel a little better if they forget that))

Her fingernails bite into her palm. She tilts her head back, and slowly, slowly, a smile spreads across their face.

“The Plot advances,” they murmur, feeling magic gather in Brooklyn. “The story continues.”

She deliberates for a moment.

“I should be there,” they decide, and snaps herself away.

* * *

* * *

_“That’s it. That’s the grand secret, the hidden script. That’s what this is all for.”_

_He’s shaking. “Why?”_

_“You won’t like the answer.”_

_“I deserve it. If nothing else, I deserve to hear the goddamn truth.”_

_Fingers brush his cheek. It’s ridiculous: he towers over her, and yet she dwarfs him in presence and power, and they both know it. “You deserve it, yes. But I have caused enough pain, and this, at least, I can avoid.”_

_He stares. “You couldn’t avoid the rest?”_

_“No,” and that’s the end, and she disappears without another word._

* * *

_“_ Mom _?”_

  _“Hey, honey. Sorry I took so long."_

* * *

* * *

Rhia dreams.

Rhia Sees.

She doesn’t know whether it’s her faerie blood refusing the Turn, or whether it’s exposure to Aidan’s insanity, or something else entirely. But she still has the dreams, even now, and she still Sees.

This time, it’s clearer and yet more confusing than it has been in a long time.

\\\ _|Aidan is screaming, clawing at his arms, and his skin is melting off, and someone is laughing|_

_|Clary’s hands are soaked with blood, her black Shadowhunting gear drenched in it, and she’s kneeling over a sprawled body with devastation painted across her face, and she opens her mouth to plead|_

_|Rhia is clutching her glass cross and the world is hot and bright and she is shattering apart|_

_|Sand crumbling to the floor and Isabelle’s eyes are huge|_

_|Blue eyes and black hair and bloody skin and he’s screaming, screaming, screaming, and his eyes are screaming something else entirely|_

_|Aidan takes Clary’s hand|_

_|Rhia shoves her mouth against someone else’s, feels their fingers in her hair and sees silver and feels rough wood under her back|_

_|Fingers tangled with hers, and a knife against her throat, and someone is crying|_

_|Tears are dripping down Clary’s face like calm rain and her mouth is a thin line|_

_|There’s a girl with honey-brown eyes and short light brown hair and red glasses, and she’s staring at Aidan with a sad, knowing look, and Aidan’s staring back with something like betrayal in his gaze|_

_|Someone is burning, and the scent fills Rhia’s nostrils and throat, she’s choking on it|_

_|Aidan is laying on the ground, chest sliced open and ribs cracked apart, his internal organs internal no longer, and then there’s a huge burst of light and shadow and someone is kneeling over him, someone with messy brown curls and the strangest eyes Rhia’s ever S/seen, rings of gold iris floating in an inky sea|_

_|The girl cups Rhia’s face, and her lips are moving, but Rhia can’t hear a thing|_

_|| **I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry** ||_

_|| **It couldn’t be helped** ||_//

Kaitlyn’s fingers are on her shoulder, her concerned green eyes are in front of Rhia’s face, and her tail rubs up against Rhia’s arm. “Rhia? You okay? What did you See?”

Rhia’s gasping, she realizes, gasping for air as though she needs it.

What she needs, she understands suddenly, is something… warmer.

She fists the neck of Kaitlyn’s shirt, meeting the warlock’s eyes, challenge burning in her voice. “Tell me no.”

Kaitlyn’s eyes widen.

“Tell me no,” Rhia repeats, yanking Kaitlyn’s face closer. “Tell me no, Kaitlyn.”

Kaitlyn swallows. “Why?”

Rhia’s shaking. “I… I need…” She shakes her head, hair brushing across Kaitlyn’s cheeks, and looks into her eyes again. “ _Tell me no_.”

“No,” Kaitlyn says, and Rhia sags. Her fingers go limp, sliding slowly down Kaitlyn’s collar and landing back in Rhia’s lap.

Kaitlyn’s arms go around her. “It’s okay,” she murmurs.

Rhia starts crying.

“It’s not.”

* * *

Because Rhia is alone, and tired, and so, so cold. And so sick of being tired and alone and cold.

And the sun is so warm.

But so is Kaitlyn. 

* * *

“We can’t do this. Not now.”

“We’re talking about this, after we get him back.”

“Deal.”

* * *

* * *

  _“I’m sorry,” and tears fill their eyes but don’t fall, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” and Aidan stares and says nothing_

* * *

* * *

After Liam… after Liam was taken, Rhia wandered. She explored the world and herself, and she discovered a few things inside herself she hadn’t thought to look for.

(She gets help finding them from a mundane girl with bright blue eyes and platinum blonde curls and a deep fascination with getting Rhia’s fangs in her neck and Rhia’s hands up her dress.)

Rhia came back to help the Adlers retrieve Aidan. Of course she did. But once they brought Kaage back, and lost him… she left again.

The Adlers… they… they disturb her, a little bit. She feels like a bit of a hypocrite, judging someone for their sins (god knows her slate drips blood), but… fucking a sibling? (Even a half-sibling?) And _marrying_ them?

Rhia does feel justified in being off-put by the Adlers’ relationship. Liam wasn’t, and Aidan isn’t, but his judgement is… different. Changed.

(cracked)

So Rhia left again, and wandered the globe, and managed to avoid Kaage. And found some humans to play with for a while.

She found she has an affinity for bright eyes and soft mouths and talented fingers. She found she likes it when they like her fangs, and when they leave her, not the other way around. She found she really, really likes it when they aren’t scared of her.

((She finds she likes it more than anything else when they lie next to her and let her soak up their warmth.))

* * *

 

Kaitlyn’s hand brushes against hers as they walk to Magnus’ apartment from the subway. The sun has set and the Shadowhunters are already there, but the Adlers needed to get something and Rhia needed the walk. Kaitlyn hadn’t said a thing, just pulled on her jacket and followed Rhia out the door to the subway.

Rhia’s chest feels tight. What happened with Kaitlyn… she can try to brush it off, try to make it simple, use the excuse of her dreams and the lingering desperation for intimacy. Make it impersonal. Kaitlyn would understand that, maybe even let it slide.

But.

Rhia doesn’t _want_ to do that. She wants to kiss Kaitlyn, wrap herself up in Kaitlyn’s summer heat and the brightness of her soul and not leave. She wants to hear about Niko and what Kaitlyn’s been doing for the past decade or so and why Kaitlyn is _here_ , walking so close to Rhia that their fingers brush on every few steps.

Rhia doesn’t ask, doesn’t touch, doesn’t look. _Aidan. Focus on Aidan. Figure it out later._

Kaitlyn presses the buzzer. “Magnus Bane?”

His voice is staticky. “ _Come on up._ ”

Kaitlyn glances back at Rhia as she pushes the door open and walks inside. Rhia hangs behind a few steps, keeping a careful distance between them. She wants, desperately, to touch, and she can’t afford to, not now.

Clary opens the door to Magnus’ loft, eyes flicking over their faces. She senses the tension, judging by the tiny jump of her eyebrows and the inquisitive cast of her mouth, but she doesn’t say anything, simply backs away so they can step inside.

Kaitlyn takes charge, looking around. The Adlers are standing close together in the corner, probably just come from a Portal, and clearly not looking to lead. “Right,” Kaitlyn says loudly, clapping her hands. “I need Jace and Isabelle somewhere else. We need space, and you aren’t necessary for the ceremony.”

Isabelle doesn’t look happy, but she and Jace duck into the hallway leading to the bedrooms, looking in.

“Sarah, Madden, get set up. Magnus, help them, please.” She looks between Clary and Rhia consideringly. “Rhia… your token was used last time, right?”

Rhia’s fingers go to it, rubbing the cool glass cross. “Yes.”

Kaitlyn bites her lip. Rhia forces her eyes away from it. “It should be either me or Clary, as the most recent anchors,” she thinks aloud. “Clary?”

Clary shifts her weight onto one hip. “I don’t really know how this works,” she hedges. “And I just got it yesterday.”

Kaitlyn nods and pulls her swan out from under her collar. “Right, then. It’ll be me.”

Rhia startles when Alec Lightwood raises his hand, instinctive fear at the sight of him curling hotly behind her collarbone. “What do I do?”

Kaitlyn’s eyes are cold when she looks at him. “Just… stay out of the way. Maybe with your siblings. I… I can’t promise Aidan will be anything near happy to see you.”

Alec swallows thickly and nods, joining his sister. Isabelle bumps their shoulders together in solidarity.

Rhia sits down and waits, listening to the Adlers walking Magnus through the ritual, watches Kaitlyn’s face as she memorizes the steps as well, feels Clary’s tension and nerves as the Shadowhunter speaks with her friends. Rhia… Rhia tastes ash and copper, and her skin prickles with cold that she no longer feels. She smells ozone and amber, and she twines her fingers together and remembers hands clamped around her shoulder, her wrists, her hip, holding her steady or forcing her helpless. She remembers the repressed agony and rampant uncaring in ruby eyes, the cruel spirit manipulating familiar fingers to grab her cross; the scarlet light dripping from the cross, not changing for decades as Rhia waited and waited for Aidan to return.

She wonders if it’ll end the same. Who he’s going to kill this time, if he breaks free of them. If he’ll be caught.

She looks at Alec, and thinks.

Kaitlyn’s hand lands on her shoulder, warm and grounding. “We’re ready,” she says softly, green eyes meeting Rhia’s own.

Rhia swallows, nods, gets up.

Sarah stands at the main point of the pentagram, Madden and Clary at her sides. Kaitlyn takes the fourth point, and Rhia stands beside her at the fifth. Magnus stands back, fingers cast slightly blue, waiting for their call to involve himself. Kaitlyn’s necklace dangles in her fingers; it looks like jet-black smoke is roiling around inside the silvery glass.

Kaitlyn meets Sarah’s eyes. Sarah nods, raising her hands. Kaitlyn tosses the swan into the pentagram; a net of Sarah’s purple magic catches the little token, encircles it in a little violet globe. Just like last time.

Rhia catches her eyes. Sarah nods.

Rhia swallows and takes a needless breath. She remembers the words, the altered chant that the Adlers promised her would work better next time. She says it easily, words flowing from her mouth like water pouring out of a pitcher. She feels eyes on her, Kaitlyn’s and Clary’s and Magnus’ and Sarah’s, and Alec’s too, blue and shadowed. Something curls and twines in her stomach; the power in the room is rising steadily, the sphere of magic becoming more tangible, violet and blue and silver, and Clary’s eyes almost seem to glow from within, and Isabelle’s mouth is open, and Alec’s face is pale and drawn and cast with shadow.

Rhia finishes, mouth snapping shut on the last phrase. She looks at Kaitlyn. Sarah does too.

“You need to do it this time,” the older warlock says gently. Kaitlyn nods and grits her teeth.

* * *

Kaitlyn sends out a tendril of magic, just scouting, curling out from the center of her chest and around the swan, _her_ swan. It pokes hesitantly through the glass and she gasps: Aidan’s magic swirls and tangles around hers, thick and suffocating and _hot_ , pulling her toward him. She stumbles forward; Rhia’s fingers clamp down on her arm, vampire strength holding Kaitlyn in place, and suddenly the pull is less. Kaitlyn breathes, and sends out more, fortifies her hold before moving forward, and elsewhere.

Through the magic, she crosses dimensions, and lands somewhere _hot_ and _brightdark_ and _loud._ Her eyes narrow.

 _Come on, Aidan,_ she thinks. _You know me. Come on. Time to get you out, yeah?_

She reaches.

Someone grabs her spectral arm.

She takes a deep breath- Rhia’s fingers tighten on her shoulder- she wraps her magic around the weak grasp, and:

_Aidan?_

**Please**.

She gasps, eyes flying open, and sees Sarah. “Got him,” she grunts, and shuts her eyes again as she starts to _pull._

* * *

Clary blinks, something tugging at her insides. The swan starts to glow around the black center, the glass itself shining brightly. Kaitlyn’s eyelids flicker, and Clary stifles a gasp: pure light shines from behind Kaitlyn’s lids, incandescent silver. Rhia’s fangs dig into her lower lip. Her fingers slip down Kaitlyn’s shoulder, gripping her hand so tight as to look painful. Clary sees Sarah take Madden’s hand out of the corner of her eye, and the purple light strengthens, wrapping more solidly around the blue-tinged silver sphere in the center of the pentagram. Clary feels the same tug on her insides.

“She needs more,” Rhia grunts through her fangs, dark-earth eyes shimmering silver.

Sarah reaches out to Clary. “Give me your strength.”

Clary’s fingers slide into Sarah’s at the same moment Madden’s hand clamps around Kaitlyn’s wrist. Clary’s head jerks back, her mouth opening and heat pouring out; she watches an identical silver glow spill from Kaitlyn and Rhia’s mouths as purple light drips out of Madden and Sarah’s lips like glowing wine. Out of the corner of her eye, Clary can see Jace’s wide golden eyes and Isabelle’s gaping mouth and Alec’s pallid face, and she can feel Magnus behind her, his presence warm and solid. Steadying, as magic swirls and pounds through the five of them, beating a rhythm through Clary’s bones. Kaitlyn’s jaw clenches, and the magic pulse flutters, and without even thinking about it, Clary reaches around and clasps her fingers around Rhia’s hand. The pulse steadies, strengthens, and Clary’s vision whirls away into _silvervioletwhitelavenderblack_ as Kaitlyn _screams._

There is the sound of something tearing, something shattering, and another scream joins Kaitlyn’s, one much more familiar. As Clary’s vision whites out, she hears Isabelle whisper, “Simon?”

 _No,_ Clary thinks through the fog in her head. _Aidan._

She blinks a few times, and drops Rhia and Sarah’s hands. Her fingers are sore, but she can’t really concentrate on that.

There’s a person curled up inside the pentagram.

Her breath catches in her lungs: he’s unglamoured, skin tanned bronze under the sigils and blood. He’s naked, but that’s nothing new; his sigils flicker dangerously, and there are hints of red in the usual gold. Clary’s eyes flick up to the swan and breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s gold. Hinted red, but that’s to be expected. Manageable.

She glances at the others. Kaitlyn is shaking and panting, skin pale; Rhia’s practically holding her up, arms wrapped around her and eyes soft and heated. The tension between them earlier has changed into something decidedly _hotter_ and Clary takes her eyes away. Sarah and Madden are still holding hands, but their attention is on Aidan instead of each other, like Rhia and Kaitlyn- though Clary can’t blame them. Kaitlyn just did something extremely draining.

It’s Sarah who moves, Sarah who speaks. She crouches down, plants a hand a good nine inches away from his hip, and murmurs, “Can you speak?”

There’s a pause before he raises his head.

His eyes burn gold, little flickers of red floating through every once in a while. There’s a bleeding gash on his cheek that slices through several sigils. His throat works, eyes fixed on Sarah. He shakes his head.

Sarah swallows. “Okay. That’s alright.” Her voice is quiet and calm. She doesn’t move her hand, doesn’t get closer, lets Aidan choose the distance. “Do you need someone to go?”

His eyes go immediately to the hallway leading to the bedrooms, where the other Shadowhunters are trying to remain inconspicuous. Sarah nods, pulls her body backward and straightens up, turning her back to Aidan and spreading her hands in a protective stance.

“Okay. You guys need to go.”

Her tone brooks no argument. Isabelle’s mouth snaps shut, hurt glinting in her eyes, but she does as Sarah says and walks with her brothers out the door. Clary hears them linger outside for a while before they walk downstairs.

Sarah pins Magnus with a look. “Do you know why he’s letting you stay?”

Magnus hesitates, but shakes his head. “No. Not really.”

Sarah’s eyebrow jumps, but settles. She lowers herself as she turns, hand just an inch closer to Aidan this time as she resettles into her crouch.

On the other side of the pentagram, Rhia and Kaitlyn lower themselves to the ground as well. Kaitlyn is half in Rhia’s lap and their hands are clasped. Both are watching Aidan carefully.

“Can we tell him your name?” Sarah asks Aidan.

Aidan looks at Magnus. Magnus holds the gaze, hands still glowing slightly but at his sides, nonthreatening. Aidan licks his lips- Clary’s eyes widen slightly at the tiny golden mark on the tip of his tongue, she’s never seen that one before- before nodding, just the tiniest movement.

Sarah swallows and turns to Clary.

Clary tears her eyes from Aidan and swivels. Magnus is only a foot or two behind her, and his eyes latch onto hers quickly.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve guessed already,” Clary says quietly, “but his name- true name, anyway- is Aidan. Aidan Morningstar.”

Magnus swallows and nods. “I figured. You were calling him the first, after all.”

Sarah smiles slightly at Magnus, a little self-deprecating. “Yeah, that… was a little obvious, I suppose.”

Sarah jumps a little and turns back to Aidan. His fingers are brushing hers and he’s uncurled, eyes seeking hers. He’s trembling.

Sarah smiles softly and opens her arms. “Not gonna hurt you, Aidan. I promise.”

Aidan moves quickly, practically crawling into Sarah’s lap as she sits down fully and pulls him onto her. Madden steps closer, sits down next to his wife’s hip, and waits for Aidan’s nod before starting to rub at Aidan’s scalp. Clary takes their queue and moves closer, watching Aidan’s face for assent before nuzzling against his bare shoulder. His nudity isn’t a problem; this is entirely about comfort and familial love, reassuring him that yes, he is here, he is as safe as he can get, they won’t hurt them, they’ll protect him, they love him.

Kaitlyn and Rhia manage their way around the pentagram and drape themselves over the rest, some part of them touching Aidan. Everyone is touching Aidan, grounding him, comforting him.

Clary glances over. Magnus is sitting on his couch with his legs drawn up and crossed underneath him, hands folded under his chin. He has a faint smile on his face.

Clary raises an eyebrow. Magnus tilts his head to the side and smiles wider.

Clary returns her attention to Aidan. She can puzzle out Magnus and his smiles later, when Aidan isn’t fresh from the pits.

The swan lies on the floor, forgotten, the tiny gold spark burning brightly through the unbroken glass.

 

* * *

* * *

Clary can’t see them or feel them, but they are there, leaning against the wall and staring at the pile of anchors and Aidan sprawled across the broken pentagram. They’re smiling, but there are tears sparkling in their brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” they whisper, watching Aidan as he nuzzles Rhia’s hair, as Kaitlyn’s tail rubs against his back. “I’m so, so sorry. But I’m so glad you have them.” They swallow, rub their hand across their eyes. “I’m glad I gave them to you. I’m glad I let you keep them.”

They glance at Magnus.

“I can’t wait ‘til you get your shit together,” they say bluntly. “But that’s… gonna have to take a while, what with Alec.” They sigh in exasperation. “Wonderful.”

Their eyes are wistful, looking back at Aidan. “I’ll be seeing you soon, honey. Hang on, yeah? Let them care for you. Work things out with Izzy. I have to attend to some plot holes that’re messing with S.”

They take a step back, and then they’re gone, without anyone knowing they were there in the first place.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

They move into one of Magnus’ guest bedrooms, all six of them. Magnus doesn’t bother them. Aidan and Sarah and Madden curl up together on the bed and the other three are in chairs and on the floor. They talk to Aidan, catch him up on what happened after he bought Clary and her friends passage home. Rhia and Kaitlyn share a fraught look and don’t talk much; Aidan clearly notices, but he doesn’t pry, not yet.

Clary kisses his forehead when she walks out.

Magnus is lying on his couch, reading, the book held up over his face. He drops it onto his chest when he hears her and sits up.

“Clary?”

She rubs her hand down her face. “He’s fine. I… I don’t think he’s ready to see the others, but Isabelle deserves an update. Also, we need some pants.”

Magnus snorts. “What size is he?”

Clary bites her lip. “Simon’s clothes won’t fit him. Yours _might_ ; he’s about your height and he’s really skinny now.”

Magnus nods. “Bedazzled or not?”

Clary snorts. “Not. He’s not big on sparkling.”

Magnus shakes his head as he snaps a pair of black sweatpants into his lap. “Good?”

Clary picks them up for inspection. “Yeah, I think so.” She knocks on the bedroom door. Kaitlyn opens it. She hands the pants to the warlock and closes the door again, turning back to Magnus.

“Can I use your phone? I only have Simon’s with me.”

Magnus nods, snapping the handheld into her hand. She dials the Institute’s number and puts the receiver to her ear.

It’s Isabelle who picks up, thank god. “Magnus?”

“It’s Clary,” Clary says. “I thought you’d like to know how he is.”

“Yes,” Isabelle says eagerly.

“He’s… he’s stable. He’s not going to hurt anyone- at least, no one here- and he should be able to talk soon, but I don’t think he should see you guys yet.”

“Why?” And yep, that’s definitely hurt in her voice. Clary feels bad for Isabelle, she really does; all this in the space of a few days has to be hard, but Clary’s main concern is Aidan, and what will benefit him most.

“For one, we can’t promise he’ll react well to Alec.” _Or, for that matter, that Alec will react well to unglamoured Aidan fresh from Hell._ “Plus… I think Asmodeus did something to his memories. He’s… he’s fuzzy on a lot.”

“How do you know that if he can’t talk?”

“We’ve been using writing,” Clary explains. “He… he remembers the broad strokes, mostly, and some details, but… he’s missing pieces. Years. He, he knows I’m an anchor, but he doesn’t remember much of anything past the late nineties. He doesn’t remember meeting me. He… he doesn’t know you, or anyone from this life. From Simon’s life. We… we can’t push this on him. We have to wait until he remembers on his own.”

Isabelle is quiet for a while. “I understand. I’ll tell my brothers.”

“Thanks, Izzy,” Clary whispers. “I’ll tell you when he’s ready for you, okay?”

Isabelle hangs up.

Clary’s not angry.

* * *

A month after Sarah and Madden leave Liam and Rhia to their own devices, their lives change forever.

They’re in Brazil- quite the change, and it’s been difficult, growing accustomed to the heat and wet- tracking down a rogue warlock. She’s been running around the Americas, causing trouble and cursing mundanes and generally causing mayhem. The Adlers have decided to put their training to use.

The warlock herself is easy- they track her to a little corner of the jungle, Sarah covers her exit, and Madden sends a knife through her chest. Easy.

It’s the demon she was holding in the house that’s a trouble.

The moment she dies, the pentagram keeping the demon captive shatters. They don’t know until the little cottage she’d been living in _explodes_ and a pillar of flame and shadow rises from it, twenty feet tall and only vaguely humanoid.

 **You killed my mistress!** it howls. Madden stumbles backward, hands coming up to protect his chest and face, glowing a violent purple.

“Hey, whoa, calm down-”

 ** _You killed her,_** the demon repeats, voice quieter now but even more menacing. Sarah runs toward her brother, but before she’s taken even a few steps, the demon scoops him up in its clawed fist. She stumbles as the ground rumbles, the demon’s shadowy tail slamming down into the earth. Madden’s eyes are huge in his face, glowing faintly purple. **You will** ** _suffer_** , the demon promises, and leans down.

“Madden!” Sarah screams, and the demon sinks its teeth into Madden’s throat.

Madden can’t scream. Agony burns across his torso, ripping lines across his neck and collarbone, darkness overwhelming him. The demon pulls back; Madden is only vaguely aware of the hot gush of liquid from his neck. **Watch him die, helper,** the demon hisses at Sarah, and lets her lover drop the fifteen feet to the ground. **Or try and save him. It won’t matter.**

The demon disappears. Sarah scrambles to Madden’s side, choking on her sobs, and pulls him into her lap. He’s barely able to breath through the mess of his throat, blood pouring out of the torn mess of flesh. It looks like raw meat, ripped and bloody, and Sarah’s barely able to keep from vomiting.

“Stay,” she begs, and her hands glow violet.

* * *

Madden lives. Barely. He takes months to recover, and Sarah’s magic takes another month after that to get back to full power, but he lives.

He doesn’t heal fully, though.

His vocal cords are ruined, and his neck and collarbone are more scar than skin. He can barely speak at all, and it causes excruciating pain to even try. It’s a horrible punishment for him; he loves talking, chattering, and to be forced into silence is hard on both of them. They sit in silence, Sarah not bothering to talk since her brother can’t reply.

But the silence has another effect. They learn each other, the things their bodies say. They both learn sign language, and teach it to Rhia too, later. They grow even more attuned to one another, easily able to discern the other’s thoughts by the way they hold themself, the look in their eyes.

It’s not the same, and it’s not better. Madden is changed, and so is Sarah.

But it’s something.

* * *

Rhia has met the Bane twice. She’s been terrified of it ever since their first meeting, when it tracked them and the Adlers down and forced them to separate. But Aidan hadn’t killed it, then- he’d been busy tending to Madden and Sarah- and it finds Rhia and Aidan again, months later.

She and Liam are in Switzerland, wandering the mountain towns and growing slowly distant. She knows she’ll leave him soon, knows this can’t continue much longer as it is. Being his anchor is _hard_ , and while she’s never been one to back away from a challenge, having a person depend on you for their identity isn’t a state of being she can maintain. He can find someone new, after her; she won’t abandon him entirely. They can be friends.

These are the things she tells herself, during the sunlit hours when Liam wanders and she tries to sleep.

One day, Liam comes home scared. His face is white and there’s blood on his knuckles. “It’s here.”

Rhia sits up and wraps her coat around herself. “Who?”

“The Bane.” He steps inside, starts packing up their few belongings. “It’s found me. We need to move.” He pauses. “You should leave.”

She freezes. “What? No. I’m not leaving you to it.”

“You have to.” His fingers are tight around her wrist. “He can’t keep me down, you know that, but- you can’t come back.”

Rhia stares him down. “He won’t kill me. I won’t let him. And I won’t leave you.”

_Not like this._

They keep eye contact, Rhia refusing to back down in the face of his honest terror. She knows what’s raging behind his eyes ((| _burningashcrumblingscreamingyourfaultyourfaultyoudraggedthemintoitthey’dbealiveifitweren’tforyou_ |)) and it’s not going to make her back down.

Liam swallows. “We don’t have time for this.”

And he takes her hand.

They run.

But not fast enough.

It catches up to them near the border, wearing the same body it had been in when it attacked them with the Adlers- middle-aged man, same sapphire eyes and ebony hair and milky skin as always. Aidan swallows hard and pushes Rhia behind him, stares the Bane down as his sword blinks into existence in his hand. “Leave her out of it.”

The Bane looks at Rhia consideringly. “She will be spared if she stays out of the way. I see no reason to involve her.”

Aidan looks at Rhia hard. She glances at the Bane’s expressionless eyes, its flat mouth, before nodding to the agreement and backing up several yards. Aidan faces the Bane, and---

Rhia doesn’t remember much of what happened then. She knows she’d been flung into a snowdrift, a snowdrift that had been hiding a great rock, and the snow under her face had been scarlet. She remembers Aidan’s angry roar, the flashes of gold and blue as they battled. She remembers screaming his name as the Bane swept his head from his shoulders; she remembers the blue fire that the Bane had set on his body, and she remembers the Bane’s self-satisfied grin as it intoned, _“Let him return to the flames where he belongs.”_

She remembers staring up at it looming over her, the dark sky and bright stars dancing and swirling together above its borrowed head. She remembers its fingers tight around her arm, its voice telling her to leave and stop fighting for the Son of the Morningstar.

She remembers telling it to fuck off, even as her head dripped precious scarlet and its fingers tightened enough to crack the bone.

But without Aidan to guide it, it crumbled in front of her; the original soul had been ousted, and without the Bane’s spirit to hold the body together, it dissolved. She’d lain on the icy ground for a long time, until the sky became a dark blue instead of an inky black; and then she moved away from the Bane’s ashed and Aidan’s abandoned sword (and the pool of blood his head left behind) and crawled into a little hollow beneath the outcropping, shoveling snow in around her, heedless of the cold and uncaring of the wetness of the snow and sharpness of the stone.

He’d come back. She had faith.

And he did, of course he did. But she’s been utterly terrified of the Bane ever since she saw it take Aidan’s head from his shoulders, and that isn’t going to change.

* * *

Even if it is (or seems to be) a Shadowhunter boy whom Aidan seems to trust- that isn’t going to change.

* * *

 

* * *

 

_“You know they aren’t real, right?”_

_…_

_“_ Right _?”_

_“...Just because they don’t physically exist in our world doesn’t mean they aren’t real somewhere.”_

 

* * *

* * *

Kaitlyn sees them, once.

It’s the middle of the night. She’s sitting in their shared kitchen, staring at the wall. She’s been thinking about her mother, and remembering her brother, and that’s never a good thing. So it’s probably relatively good that Niko walks into the room right then.

“Kaitlyn. I need you to go somewhere else.”

She blinks at him, drowsiness dulling her movements. “...Okay… where?”

Niko’s almost vibrating with tension. “Just- just elsewhere!” He takes a closer look at her. “Go to _bed,_ Katie.”

She flinches at the nickname and stands. “Okay. Don’ destroy an’thin’, m’kay?”

He nods and shoos her out. She takes a full ten steps toward her room before freezing and whipping back around, tucking herself against the wall and peeking around.

The glamour drops. Aidan stands there, sigils almost seeming liquid on his skin, like they could drip off at any moment like sparkling gold paint. He murmurs something Kaitlyn doesn’t understand, makes a few hand motions, and circles his finger in the air. “Come on,” he mutters.

A little orb of light pops into existence, swirling tightly around itself. It’s purple and silver and amber. Kaitlyn sees the edge of Aidan’s smile.

“Hey,” he murmurs to it. “You available?”

The orb blinks and swirls outward, getting bigger and taking on a shape. It resolves eventually into a face made of multicolored light, with expressive eyes behind rectangular glasses and a smiling mouth. “ _Aidan?_ ”

“Hey,” he says. Kaitlyn’s surprised by the amount of relief and affection in his voice. “What’s up?”

The face raises an eyebrow. “ _It’s the middle of the night there, Aidan. What’s up with_ you _,to be calling me?”_

He swallows. “I… I need…”

The face softens and becomes more feminine. “ _Do you want anyone else?_ ”

“Just you,” Aidan says quickly.

The face nods, somehow, and then the light winks out. Kaitlyn blinks; when her eyes open again, there’s a girl standing in front of Aidan, arms spread and smile soft. “Come here, honey.”

Kaitlyn leaves, hearing the rustle of clothing rubbing against each other as Aidan rushes into her arms. She doesn’t know who the girl is, doesn’t know what’s going on, and she is far too tired to think. She’ll figure it out later.

She goes to bed.

* * *

In the kitchen behind her, the girl rubs Aidan’s back and kisses his temple. “Kaitlyn saw me.”

Aidan freezes. “What?”

The girl hums softly, tucks Aidan’s long limbs around her and settles in his lap. He’s half a foot taller; she may be the comforter here, but he’s the one who’ll be supporting her physically. “I can hide it from her. Delete it, even, if you want.”

Aidan takes a deep breath. “N-no, I… just, just hide it. When, when you- if you ever- I want, I need someone else to- to support it.”

The girl nods, waves her hand.

Upstairs, Kaitlyn snuffles and repositions in her sleep, unaware that the past five minutes of her memory have been severely altered.

The girl smiles, scratches her fingers across his scalp, and presses her nose into his shoulder. Aidan practically purrs.

“Love you, honey,” she whispers against his collarbone. He smiles against the top of her head.

“Love you too, Mom.”

* * *

* * *

 

 _“They_ need _me! They… they need me, all of them, and I can’t… I can’t help them all, I can barely help at all. I can hardly do anything, and they’re all in so much_ pain _, and all I can promise is an ending. They are my_ children. _I need to be able to do more.”_

_“You can’t.”_

_“I know.”_

* * *

_The Plot is the most important thing. Remember that, okay, kiddo? Whatever you have to put the characters through, if it furthers the Plot, it’s worth it._

_Remember that._

* * *

* * *

It takes two weeks for Aidan to get Simon Lewis back. They stay in Magnus’ spare bedroom for that entire time, talking and touching. Aidan gets his voice back on the fourth day, and doesn’t stop asking questions and prodding Clary, trying to find out as much as possible.

He starts talking to Magnus three days before Simon Lewis comes back into his head, starting with little mundane questions and working his way up. Magnus asks things too, but keeps things simple; Clary’s warned him off the big stuff, the Hell and Lucifer and _Aidan_ stuff- the things his legends are made of.

Aidan knows Magnus knows who he is, clearly, but he’s not telling Magnus anything real yet.

When Simon comes back, he comes back _hard._ One moment he’s stirring hot chocolate mix into a cup of hot milk, and then he’s on the floor clutching his head. Rhia and Magnus, the two in the kitchen, don’t touch him; Clary, watching from the doorway, runs toward him and drops to her knees. She recognizes the flickers of brown curls and the glint of chocolate eyes, the instinctive glamour flashing across his skin. She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Simon?”

He’s shaking as he settles into the glamour. “Clary,” he whispers.

She pulls him into her arms.

* * *

Simon takes charge, stuffing the others back under him. Magnus is disappointed at the loss, knowing he won’t be getting any information out of Simon. Clary tells him it’s for the best as she dials Isabelle.

“He wouldn’t have told you anything real anyway,” she says with more than a touch of melancholy as she holds the phone to her ear. “Isabelle, hey… he remembers. Simon’s back.”

Magnus watches, waits.

Clary says “got it” and hangs up, turning to face Magnus. “She’s coming over. Jace and Alec are staying at the Institute.” Clary hesitates. “I… it’s not my place, but… I really think you should talk-”

“No.” Magnus cuts her off, already knowing what she’s going to say. “I’m not talking to Alec.”

Clary sighs. “You need to,” she mutters, and turns away.

* * *

Three weeks into Aidan being back, and the only progress has been with him. Clary is glad about it, she really is, how could she not be- but… Magnus and Alec are driving her _insane._ All they need to do is _talk,_ but Magnus is too stubborn and Alec too hurt. Something, or someone, needs to interfere before they drive her utterly _insane._

* * *

_Be careful what you wish for._

* * *

Alec wakes up with a headache- never a good sign. He groans softly, sitting up slowly and pressing the heel of his hand against his eyebrow to try and alleviate the pain while he searches for his stele.

**_That won’t do anything._ **

Alec freezes. “W-What?”

 **_Your stele. I assume you mean to draw an_ ** **iratze** ** _?_ **

“Who the fuck are you?” Alec hisses, trying to push the pain away so he can _think._ “Where are you?”

The voice, this time, is almost… smug. **_Inside you._ **

Alec goes very, very still, and shoves at the _parabatai_ connection. _*JACE!*_

He feels the spark of Jace’s surprise. * _Alec? What’s wrong?_ *

The pain in his head intensifies; Alec hisses and hunches over, clasping his hands around his skull in a vain attempt to squeeze the pain away. * _I… there… there’s something, there’s some_ one _in my head, Jace, it_ hurts _and- and it’s trying to, trying to do something-_ *

 _*Alec?*_ Jace asks worriedly. His voice is faint and growing fainter. _*ALEC! Talk to me, come on, why are you fading-*_

Alec sees something, a flash of _purpose_ behind his eyes, and he gasps. * _Tell Clary!_ * he sends, right before the voice and its black presence crushes the connection between Alec and his _parabatai._

 **_Just you and me, now,_ ** it hisses, and curls tighter around Alec’s consciousness. **_And soon, it’s just going to be me._ **

* * *

Jace jerks in his chair. He’s sitting in Magnus’ living room next to Clary. She looks at him. His gold eyes are wide and frantic. “Clary,” he gasps, and she takes his hand.

“Jace? What’s the matter?”

Rhia, Kaitlyn, and Magnus, the other three in the room, are staring at them. Jace is vaguely aware of Aidan-Simon standing in the doorway, about to leave before Jace’s movement, but right now Jace is focused on Clary.

“There- there’s something wrong with Alec,” he whispers, feeling hollow. The _parabatai_ connection has been- not cut, because that would require death, but… smothered so completely that Jace can only feel the pit in himself where it had been. “He said… he said there’s something- inside him? It, whatever it is, it cut our _parabatai_ connection.”

He hears something shatter against the hardwood floor and looks up. Rhia’s face, normally pallid, has gone utterly bloodless. Her eyes are wide and scared. Kaitlyn’s fingers are tight around Rhia’s wrist.

“It is him, then,” Rhia whispers. Aidan’s shoulders go tight.

“What?” Magnus asks. Jace can’t muster words.

“It’s him,” Rhia says again. “Alec… Alec is the Host.”

Magnus’ voice is sharp. “The Host for _what_?”

Rhia’s eyes are sad. “The Bane.”

Aidan punches the wall. “Should’ve known better,” he hisses. “I hoped, but-”

Jace’s ears are buzzing. Clary’s explained to him what the Bane is, why they haven’t let Alec see Aidan since his return, but-

Alec as a supernatural hunter, someone completely fixated on _killing Aidan_ -

Jace can’t comprehend it.

Kaitlyn’s fingers latch around Aidan’s shoulder. “We need to go,” she says. “Find somewhere out of the city, limit casualties. Do you have any ideas?”

Aidan nods, slowly. “Yeah.”

“Excuse me?” Magnus asks. “Mind a little explanation?” His voice is tight; Jace can’t blame him.

Kaitlyn sighs. “We need to get Aidan somewhere less populated while the possession is still taking place- before the Bane is in full control. He needs to be somewhere isolated so no one else gets hurt.”

Aidan’s activating Magnus’ Portal as they speak. “I have a place in mind,” he says, not turning around. “How many of you can I convince to stay here?”

No one speaks, not even Isabelle, who’s come in from the spare bedrooms where she was reading. Her eyes are wide and conflicted, but she doesn’t say a word. Aidan sighs. “That’s what I thought.”

He turns to Rhia. “You sure-”

She nods tensely, gripping Kaitlyn’s hand.

He swallows. “Okay. I’ll head through, see if it’s clear.” The Portal swirls to life, and Aidan steps through.

Clary’s fingers tighten around Jace’s shoulder.

* * *

* * *

_She swallows._

_“All I can give you is an ending. A better one than I… than I originally planned, but… not exactly a happy one.” She shrugs, pulls at the sleeve of her sweater. “Depends on how you look at things, I suppose. It’s… it’s the happiest I can realistically give you.”_

_His hand lands on her shoulder, squeezes. Her eyes flit up to meet his._

_“That’s enough,” he promises. “_ An _end is more than I’ve been expecting anyway.”_

* * *

* * *

 

_Get out of my head! Leave me alone! Jace, where’s Jace, give him back to me-_

**_Stop fighting, little Shadowhunter. Give in. Go to sleep._ **

_No! You’re, you’re gonna hurt them, I won’t let you use my body to hurt them-_

**_You think you have a choice? I am so much more powerful than you, Alec Lightwood. I will take this body and I will use it to fulfill my purpose, and then we will be done. I will leave._ **

_...What will happen to me?_

**_You will come with me._ **

-It _shoves_ , and Alec gasps and folds under the assault, curling into a ball as the black swirls around him-

 **_Good_** , and its satisfied laugh rings in his-their head. **_Sleep. You have no purpose here anymore._ **

-The black swallows Alec, wrapping around his eyes and holding him still, covering his mouth, but he is awake-

* * *

They are watching, one hand over their mouth and the other clenched into a tight fist at their side, when the Seelie Queen binds Frederick to the stone and brings his daughter, his little miracle, to her. They watch as the Queen casts her terrible spell and as the little girl, not even thirteen, crumbles to dust piece by piece, from the feet up, screaming for her father to help her. The little girl's gold eyes are the last to disappear, even after her mouth has turned to ash and her screams are merely echoes. Frederick sobs and screams himself, but the Queen simply walks away, closing Frederick in with the ashes of his daughter.

They are watching as Frederick wrenches himself free, practically losing an arm in the process, and claws his way out of Seelie to the human realm. They follow closely behind as he stumbles home to the little house he shares with his wife.

They are watching when he discovers his wife's burnt corpse, no matter how much they wish to turn away, and they hold their hands tightly behind their back when Frederick spends the next day sobbing until his eyes are completely dry.

(He dies, there, because he doesn't move from her side for three days. He dies of dehydration and despair, and they are there, waiting, when he wakes back up and starts crying again.)

They watch, throat burning and eyes wet, when he spends the rest of the week preparing a weapon of mass destruction. They follow him to the Seelie Court when he plants it, and they stay by his side through the months of faeries dying.

They are there, with him, when he stands over the dying Seelie Queen and binds her in cold iron chains before ramming a rod of the stuff down her throat.

They are there when he changes, and they are there when the next little girl dies, and they are there when he goes to Hell and becomes infamous in the wake of his return(, because sometimes he needs to become a monster, but he also needs to be able to blame it on the demon Lucifer awakens inside of him, and not on the demon he releases himself).

And they stand firm when Aidan screams at them for hours, when he slams glowing fists against their flesh, when he breaks down sobbing in their arms. They do not cry, and they do not look away, and they take what Aidan gives back.

They have done so much; they can take this much back. (They deserve far more, far worse, but this is all Aidan can give and they will accept it as it is.)

* * *

They are standing there when Aidan emerges from the Portal, gold eyes desperate. He sees them and she watches the relief battle his fear.

“Ryn,” he breathes, walking toward her. The ground rumbles underneath them and he slows, looking down curiously. She waves her hand and it settles. “Alec- the Bane,” and he stops, staring at her because they know the secrets of the universe. (Of course they do; they created it, after all, she has to know everything.)

They smile. “There is a solution,” she says. “You don’t have to kill him.”

Aidan slumps in relief, tension seeping from his shoulders. “But you aren’t going to tell me.”

Ryn smiles again, clearly enjoying being the dispenser of cryptic wisdom. “You’ve done it before, Elsewhere. It’s worked.” Her head tilts. “It will _not_ be pleasant, for either of you, but it’s your backdoor solution. I don’t want to see Alec killed… not here.”

Aidan swallows. “I know it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Okay. Is this- can I bring them here? To keep the damage… local?”

Ryn looks around. They’re standing in a wide area, under a dark starry sky that provides an unnatural amount of light. The ground under their feet is stone, shifting and resettling; they stand on a stone island drifting in the starry space among many others, some with grass and plant life, others with great twisting rock monuments or outcroppings. This one is large, perhaps a square mile large in total; there are cliffs above them and a small crater yards away, and no plants at all. She nods. “I think this’d be the ideal area.”

“Will it be able to get in?”

Ryn nods again. “I’ll let it in, but just this once. It’s not meant to be here.”

“I know.” Aidan swallows. “Will… will you be here? When-”

Ryn tilts their head. “Do you want me to be?”

Aidan licks his lips. “I… maybe?”

Ryn smiles. “I’ll be around,” they promise. “Whether I can be seen is… optional.”

“Thanks,” Aidan says abruptly. “Thank you.”

Ryn’s eyes are sad. “I’ve told you, honey, do not thank me for anything. You should never thank me.”

Aidan swallows and glances down. “Right. Right.”

Ryn reaches up to put a hand on his shoulder; he’s a full half-foot taller than them. “You need to do this, Aidan.” Their eyes flicker, gold and black and stars chasing each other inside their eyes before going back to the normal, _human_ white sclera and black pupil and honey-brown iris. “It’s taken control, but it’s not too late yet.” She smiles. “I promise you, the backdoor will work, if you do it right.”

Aidan closes his eyes and presses his face against the fluffy hair on the top of her head for a long moment. He takes a deep breath and steps back, toward the Portal.

“I’m talking to the others, after this,” he says determinedly. “About you, most likely.”

Ryn inclines their head. “I’ll allow it. It’s… it’s time for me to take a more… _visible_ role, at least here.”

Aidan shoots a quick smile her way before ducking back through the Portal.

Ryn takes a deep breath and extends her hands. The air around her flickers, and then they’re gone, invisible and intangible to the inhabitants of this world- just like usual.

* * *

Rhia’s eyebrows shoot up as soon as she steps through. “What is this place?” she asks, turning to Aidan. Her voice is hushed; the atmosphere of the place demands it, the endless stretch of black sky pinpricked with light, the somber floating islands, the cool breeze slipping through her hair. This place, whatever it is… it’s not of their world.

Aidan’s mouth curls upward a little, but he doesn’t answer her question until the rest of them have followed through the Portal. Clary’s eyes are wide, emerald irises reflecting the stars. Aidan tilts his head back and his eyes slip shut.

“This is… a pocket dimension of sorts,” he says to the air, voice just loud enough for all of them to hear him. “It was created for the express purpose of keeping civilians out the way of intense battles.” He opens his eyes and shakes his head, smile turning bitter. “We… tend to have a lot of them, so she decided we needed a space for them that would limit casualties.”

“She?” Magnus asks, at the same moment that Isabelle asks, “Who’s the ‘we’?”

Aidan sighs. “I’ll explain later. We don’t have the time right now.” He looks up, surveys the terrain. “You need to get out of the way. Preferably up there,” he gestures to a cliff across the way, with a clear view of where they’re standing but not too close. “It shouldn’t be able to reach you, and it shouldn’t attack unless you initiate contact.”

Isabelle eyes it. “How?” It’s a fair question, Rhia thinks; the cliff is a sheer twenty feet high. Aidan grins.

“Like this,” he says, and snaps his fingers.

Rhia’s hand flies to her stomach, settling the twist in her gut; she shakes the disorientation out of her head and looks down at Aidan, standing near the Portal. Both now dozens of yard away and twenty feet down.

“Since when can you do that?!” Sarah yells down to him.

Aidan smirks. “For a while! But the people I’ve tried it on didn’t particularly like it.”

Sarah’s mouth twists. “Fair.”

The Portal rumbles. Aidan turns, hands snapping out to his sides and glowing gold. He doesn’t summon his sword.

Warm fingers slide into Rhia’s as Kaitlyn presses closer to Rhia’s side. Rhia squeezes, and Kaitlyn squeezes back.

Rhia glances over at Isabelle, the one with arguably the most to lose; her mouth is pressed closed, the skin around her eyes is tight, and her hands are trembling ever so slightly. Rhia catches Clary’s eye and dips her head toward Isabelle. Clary puts a hand on Isabelle’s shoulder and murmurs something too quiet for Rhia to hear.

The Portal shakes; for a single second, Rhia sees a glimpse of motion on the cliff above Aidan’s head, a shift in stance, a brief flash of denim and red laces-

‘Alec’ steps through the Portal.

Isabelle’s fingers quake, even wrapped around Clary’s.

“Hello again,” Aidan says.

It inclines its head. “Greetings, little flame.”

* * *

_At least let me see,_ Alec begs.

There is a pause.

 **_I will allow that,_ ** it concedes, and the blackness is lifted. Alec sees Aidan, standing a few feet away, hands lit with gold but no other weapons in sight. Its-Alec’s eyes flick up to the cliff across the way; everyone is grouped on top, and Alec spares a moment to pray for their safety.

 **_They will not be harmed unless they attempt to interfere,_ ** the Bane assures him. **_That is not my objective._ **

_Please don’t do this,_ Alec pleads.

**_That is not a viable option._ **

_Why?!_ Alec demands. _Why do you have to do this? Why can’t you use someone else’s body?_

There is no reply to Alec’s question. Instead, the Bane shifts its stance and a seraph blade pops into its hand- not Alec’s, thank the Angel. The Bane murmurs something too quiet for even Alec to hear, and the seraph blazes. Aidan’s face is lit from below with the cold white flame of it.

“Is there no one else you can take,” Aidan asks softly.

“No,” the Bane says firmly, and Alec slumps.

Aidan’s fingers twitch, the magic in his palms flaring. “Well, if it’s going to be like that…”

His left hand flicks upward, a line of gold trailing from it, and before Alec even understands what he’s doing, his-its body is flying backward. They slam into the cliff and drop; Alec waits for the crunch of broken bones and the flare of pain, but there is none. The Bane lands in an almost-crouch, one hand slamming into the ground hard enough to leave an imprint. Its head whips up to face Aidan; Aidan, who’s already three yards farther back than he’d been before, whose sigils are glowing brighter than usual, whose eyes are determined and cold. Aidan, who looks ready to kill, but not excited for it.

“Weak,” the Bane snarls. Alec’s surprise flares.

 _That was_ weak _?!_

 **_Yes,_ ** the Bane says. **_He is usually much less gentle._ **

_That was gentle?!_

Aidan’s magic whips out again, flicking across the Bane’s cheek, leaving a sizzling line of heat. “Hey, I’m over here. Pay attention to your enemy, yeah?”

The Bane growls, externally and internally. **_Stop distracting me,_ ** it orders Alec, and gets to its feet.

Alec blinks. _(I’m distracting it?)_

He zones out for a moment, thinking, and when he comes back, the Bane is punching Aidan in the stomach. Alec’s horrified at the noise of air rushing out of Aidan’s lungs as Aidan stumbles backward, one glowing hand coming up to grip the Bane’s face. Alec winces at the sound of his-its face _burning,_ the skin growing black and charred; the Bane yanks its head away and slams its fist into Aidan’s collarbone. Alec’s eyes widen at the crunch of bone and Aidan’s eyes go wide, pupil growing.

 _What did you just break?_ Alec demands, but the Bane doesn’t answer. Alec’s anger flares, and he _shoves._

For a single second, _he_ is the one standing inches away from Aidan’s face, _he_ is the one with burns across the left side of his face, _he_ is the one with a broken finger and a bleeding shoulder. He opens his mouth, and starts to say “Ai-”

And the Bane roars back into his skin, blackness flooding Alec and smothering his struggles and cries of indignation.

Alec can’t see the outside, anymore; everything is ebony and everything is trying to make him _sleep_ , give up and fold, and _he will not._ He is Alexander Gideon Lightwood; he will not fold to _this,_ not when too many of the people he cares about are at risk. Not when things are still broken between him and Magnus, not when his death or Aidan’s will destroy his sister. He’s not lying down to this thing in his skin.

So he fights. He is a mental construct, now; a consciousness untethered from its rightful flesh. But he is still in his mind, and there, things are a little more flexible than in reality.

He summons his bow and arrows, and he starts shooting, cutting the blackness apart, not allowing it to grab hold of him again. He fights his way forward, toward the place where he knows the key to control is, the place inside himself where he can take his body back.

Time is meaningless. It could take milliseconds; it could take millennia. But he makes it: and when he once again is the one controlling his body, Aidan is pinning him to the ground, a cage of gold threads arcing over them, and Aidan’s hands _burn_ around Alec’s wrists. Aidan is staring into his eyes, desperation clear in his own gold gaze.

“Aidan,” Alec rasps, and the burn of Aidan’s magic disappears.

“Alec?” Aidan breathes. Alec nods, barely.

“Don’t let go,” he whispers. “It’s- it’s still there, it’s fighting me.”

Aidan nods. “I know. I… I might have a way to get it out.”

Alec manages a smile, even with half his face screaming in pain. “If… if it doesn’t work…” He swallows, hissing as the Bane slams against the tight hold Alec has on it. His grip of control is slipping. “Take care of Izzy for me,” he breathes. “And… and tell Magnus… tell him I love him, and that I regret what I did.”

Aidan nods, eyes widening slightly. “Wait, Alec-”

Alec falls back into himself as the Bane surges again, ebony waves crashing over his head and dragging him down, down, down, back inside the cage the Bane has fashioned for him.

 **_Stay there,_ ** the Bane grits out, **_and go to sleep._ **

Alec bares his teeth at the blackness surrounding him. _No._

He keeps fighting, time becoming fluid and useless again. This time, the black is less suffocating; Alec assumes Aidan is keeping the Bane focused on him, so Alec’s having an easier time of it. He wonders, vaguely, how bad his body will be once this is over, but he puts that aside because it isn’t helpful.

Eventually, he starts getting flashes: Aidan’s hand clamped around the Bane’s smoking arm, Clary yelling something down, Aidan’s eyes glowing like tiny stars, the Bane snarling something indistinct but angry. Alec slashes through one more barrier, and then he’s… somewhere, somewhere… in between, where he can see and hear, but he can’t make his body obey him.

They’re on the cliff, Alec realizes, the one above where the Portal is stationed. The others must have a pretty good view, despite the distance. Aidan’s not attacking anymore; he’s standing a few feet away, panting, hands and sigils still bright, but all he’s doing is looking. The Bane isn’t moving either, so Alec pushes just a little and finds why: its ankle is snapped and its legs are covered in burns. It’s standing, but barely, and even though Alec gets the feeling pain doesn’t mean much to the Bane, the body is rapidly losing its ability to function. Alec is scared, then; scared for what that will mean for him, should Aidan’s solution work.

Aidan’s eyes are fixed on its-Alec’s, and he smiles just a bit. “Alec, I know you can hear me.”

Alec wishes he could make his head nod.

“This is not going to be pleasant for either of us, and I’m not entirely sure it’ll work, but… it’s the best solution we have. So, please…” He takes a step forward, and then another. His voice is hushed. “Just trust me, okay?”

_Okay._

Aidan’s eyes brighten as though he could hear Alec’s internal response. “Okay. Now-”

The Bane’s hand whips out. Aidan’s eyes follow the motion. Something bright and long flies up over the cliff and _thunks_ into the Bane’s hand, and Alec’s stomach lurches when he realizes that it’s the seraph blade.

“What are you planning, little flame?” the Bane husks. Alec winces; its stolen voice sounds _awful_ , like its throat is full of gravel. “What solution can you possibly have, after five thousand years of fighting me?”

Aidan smirks. “A painful one,” he replies, and darts forward, hands extended-

The Bane’s hand comes up, and the seraph slams into Aidan’s chest, slotting neatly underneath his rib cage. Alec’s eyes widen, and he would throw up if he had the capability.

Aidan’s eyes are wide and bright, and _he is still smirking._

“Step one… complete,” he grunts, and his hands land on either side of its-Alec’s head. He moves _closer,_ shoving his body further onto the blade, and Alec hears a faint cry from the other cliff. Aidan’s hand cradle its-Alec’s head.

“What are you doing?” the Bane growls, and Alec shoves it out of the way.

Pain assaults him the moment he takes charge, but his primary concern is Aidan. (He can feel Aidan’s blood soaking into his own clothes, they’re so close; he can’t spare a thought to his own injuries right now.) “What d’you mean, firs’ step?” he manages, and Aidan’s eyes widen.

“Alec!” His fingers tighten around Alec’s head. “Alec, please, please trust me on this.”

“I do,” Alec manages. “Just- get it out, _please._ ”

Aidan gives him a quick smile, and then he’s _twisting,_ and Alec hears a sharp crack as his head snaps to the side, and then he’s falling.

And the black screams, and then it’s _burning_ out of him, and everything is heat and gold and silent.

And then the silence is broken, hushed pleas of _come on, come back, Alec please there are people who need you, fuck please, please don’t be dead, please, I didn’t want to kill you,_ please _-_

And there’s another voice, soft and vaguely female, and something brushes across his face. _|Listen to Aidan, sweetie. Wake up, come on, you can do it… it’s not your time yet, sweetie. Alec._ | The voice gets firmer. _|Izzy needs you. Magnus needs you. And I am not making myself cry over you here too. Wake. Up._ |

His eyes snap open, and Aidan’s cupping his face, and they’re on the ground.

“Alec?” he asks, and Alec nods.

Aidan’s face smooths out. “Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes, and that’s when Alec realizes that the seraph blade is still in Aidan’s chest.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and reaches over. He tugs it out and tosses it away, and then he watches the hole in Aidan’s body shimmer gold and… and regenerate, flesh knitting together and skin growing back over. Aidan’s watching Alec curiously, both of them hazed in gold. Alec feels strange; his skin feels stretched and hot, and Aidan’s fingers burn against his cheek, and he feels like he’s been awake for days. His head is spinning, his fingers are numb, and he feels light and floaty. It is entirely possible that he’s in shock.

“Is it gone?”

“Yeah,” Aidan promises, and taps Alec’s forehead with one glowing finger. “Go to sleep, okay? You need to recover.”

Alec’s eyelids slide shut as he hears Aidan whisper, “I promise I won’t kill you again.”

 _That seems fair,_ Alec thinks, and then he’s out.

* * *

For the others, it goes like this:

The Bane stabs Aidan, and Aidan smiles. Then Aidan’s holding its face, and gripping its shoulder, and then he’s snapping its neck; and Isabelle screams, and Magnus’s face goes completely white. Jace crumples to the ground, hand clamped over his _parabatai_ rune.

Then the clifftop lights up gold. Aidan is a goddamn _star_ , sigils blinding on skin that seems to have turned into light. He’s holding Alec against him and they sink to the ground, Aidan kneeling with Alec’s torso and head held against his body, and Alec is glowing too, magic curling over his pale skin. His eyes gape open, lifeless, and for a moment, they are ink-dark. A shadow flickers across Alec’s skin, and Aidan’s light flares, and the shadow _screams._

Aidan smiles, and Alec’s eyes slide shut, and his head turns back into place.

Jace’s hand shakes as he pulls it away from his _parabatai_ rune; it is whole and stark on his chest, and he breathes. His eyes are wet.

Isabelle and Magnus’ hands are wrapped around each other. They do not know when that happened, but they are not in a hurry to let go.

Sarah and Madden are smiling, and Rhia is clinging to Kaitlyn, and Clary stands tall and remembers what Aidan has told her about his immortality.

Her eyes drift across the clifftop, and that’s when she sees… it: a person, standing in the shadows left by Aidan’s light, in a dark hoodie and jeans and red-laced sneakers. Their hair is cut close to their head on the sides and a wavy mess on the top, and they’re wearing red-framed glasses. They’re staring intently at Alec, and within one breath and the next, they disappear.

Clary wonders if whoever that is lives in this little pocket dimension. Then she wonders if whoever that is _created_ this dimension.

Then Alec’s chest is rising and falling, and a seraph blade is tumbling over the cliff, and Aidan and Alec are a haze of motion and blurry gold light, and Clary’s not thinking about the person anymore.

They talk, for a minute. Aidan’s eyes are bright and Alec seems drowsy and withdrawn, and then Aidan taps Alec’s forehead and murmurs something and Alec goes slack. Aidan takes a moment, inhales deeply, and raises his hand.

Clary and the others appear on the ground in front of the Portal while the sound of his snap is still fading, and she cranes her head back to watch. She can’t see what Aidan’s doing while he’s still on top of the cliff, but she certainly sees when he’s jumping down off the damn thing and landing hard several yards away from her, Alec in his arms. He straightens, holding Alec in bridal position, and meets Magnus’ eyes.

“Take him.”

Magnus doesn’t argue; his gold-green eyes are still too sad and scared to protest this excuse to hold the man he loves. He takes Alec from Aidan and presses the Shadowhunter against him, arms under his knees and shoulders. Aidan shuts his eyes and rubs a hand over his forehead, pressing it against the curve of his right eyebrow as though to stave off pain.

“Go,” he says tiredly. “Go back. I’ll be through in a minute.”

They hesitate.

“ _Go_ ,” he orders, and Sarah and Madden step through almost simultaneously. Magnus follows with Alec cradled in his arms, and then Jace and Rhia and Kaitlyn. Isabelle and Clary linger, and he slumps as he looks at them.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” he says. “I just… I need to, to say thanks.”

Isabelle and Clary exchange glances. “Fine,” Isabelle says, still looking at Clary, and the two of them step through.

* * *

It's not like Corrin  _wanted_ to die. It's not like she was  _trying_ to get herself into this mess. It's not like she scarred Aidan with her death forever on  _purpose._

These things... they just happen, okay?

The day she dies is nothing unfamiliar; she wakes up to the smell of blood and smoke, the sound of screams ringing in her ears. Tim is already gone, most likely to heal the wounded; Corrin rolls out of bed and pulls on her outer clothes before grabbing her gifted seraph and walking outside.

One of the refugee villagers latches onto her arm as soon as she steps outside. "Miss Denica, there's- it's, it attacked my brother's patrol, I don't know where he is-"

Corrin lays a hand on her arm. "What does he look like?"

The woman licks her lips. "He has dark hair, really long. He likes to braid it. He- he has a blue coat, and he has our mother's green eyes."

Corrin nods. "I'll find him," she says.  _Whatever's left of him._ "Do you know what kind of demon it was?"

The woman's trembling. "It, I, it looked like a person? But it- it had claws, and so many teeth, and I barely got away." She points to a point near the borders of what the village has marked as "their territory", the very edges of where the scouts patrol for demon activity or survivors. Corrin squints: she sees a huge patch of barren ground where snow had been, the ground hissing and bubbling, and she sees crumpled bodies half-eaten away. 

"Acid," Corrin mutters to herself. "Right."

She squeezes the woman's arm and gives her a tight smile. "I'll check it out. You... get looked over by a healer, alright? Or at least sit down."

She slips the faintly glowing blade out of her sleeve and into her palm, fingers clenching around the hilt. She's been walking over this ground more than anyone else in the last few months; she'll know if the demon's close to her. When she reaches the place, she crouches, careful to keep her palm off the smoking ground. She inspects the corpses carefully, only touching the areas as yet unaffected by the acid. She wonders aloud whether the demon's  _blood_ is acidic, or if it secrets it specifically for attacks. She winces at the half-eaten faces, the spilled organs, the blank gazes and shattered weapons, but she doesn't throw up or hesitate.

There is no time for that anymore.

She does find a young man with a dark braid, his dark blue jacket torn and bloodstained. His eyes are open, glassed-over green orbs. His chest is torn open and acid is bubbling between his melting ribs.

Corrin sighs and stretches, turning to go back to her village and deliver the news. She steps carefully, gingerly, alert for any signs of acid on the earth. Once she reaches snow, she releases a small sigh and stops watching her footing.

 _Bad,_ bad _Corrin._

It comes out of  _nowhere_ , a ball of acid hissing past her cheek as she shrieks and whirls, seraph held at the ready. It does look human, dressed in men's clothes and with light hair shorn close to its head, but it has a long tongue and  _far_ too many teeth and long claws in place of fingers. Its mouth gapes open, and Corrin shudders: it  _spits_ the acid, as evidenced by its bubbling mouth and the greenish streaks trickling down its jaw.

She swallows, backing up carefully, seraph held across her chest. The demon's tongue flicks across its teeth before drooping down to its chest. Corrin barely has time to duck before another orb of acid is spinning over her head. She hears it land and hiss into the snowy ground. She risks a quick glance over her shoulder to see where it landed- far enough away that she doesn't need to worry about it yet- and when her eyes land on the demon again, it's... smiling.

"You're fun," it hisses, and Corrin  _stares_. She's never met one that could talk before. "You don't ssscream. That getsss tiring after a while."

"I guess that means you're not letting me go?" Corrin asks.

The demon's grin grows more teeth. "Ssmart too," it says. "Too bad I'm hungry."

Corrin swallows. "Leave me alone."

"No," it says simply, and lunges at her. Its claws drag through her coat, tearing through two layers of clothes, before her seraph takes that arm off at the shoulder. Her fingers sting and her arms ache from the force, but at least she still  _has_ the arm. It reels back, hissing, acid dripping from its mouth and onto the ground dangerously close to Corrin's boot. She doesn't give it time to strike again, instead stepping over the severed arm and catching it in the side. Its remaining claws rip into her thigh and she cries out, knees buckling, but twists her blade and slides it though the demon's abdomen.

The demon stares at her, eyes black and empty.

"No fun," it says, almost mournfully, and rakes its claws up her leg and chest as it stumbles backward. Corrin bites back her sounds and clutches her free hand to her side. The demon meets her eyes. "No fun if I lose," it says quietly, and opens its mouth.

The pain and steady drip of blood from the long lines carved into her side is Corrin's undoing. She's not quick enough to dodge and she knows it: she brings the seraph in front of her, a last-ditch resort. The acid slams into it and around it, too, splattering across Corrin's chest and neck, the seraph melting in her hand. She screams.

She falls.

The demon does too, she manages to register; its blood stains the earth, oily and dark, and she cries in pain as her blood flows onto the snow and the acid eats through her hand and coat, her shirt, and now her chest. She's  _burning,_ liquid fire dripping through her skin and her flesh and muscles, eating into her bones, and soon she can't get enough air into her lungs to keep crying.

Tim's face blocks out the faint sun. He's crying, she notices, his tears dripping into her cheeks. She wants to comfort him, but she can't move her arms, and she knows vaguely that at least one of her hands is gone.

"Corrin," he whispers, and doesn't touch her face. " _Corrin._ "

She manages a breath.

"Love you," she murmurs, and acid eats into her heart as Tim sobs, and she can't see anything anymore.

* * *

Aidan waits in front of the Portal for only a few moments before Ryn appears. She smiles. “I knew you’d get it.”

“Was that necessary?”

Her shoulders slump. “Yes. By the rules of this world, he should have died, period. That was the only way I could circumvent things.”

“That _hurt,_ ” Aidan hisses. “I _killed Alec,_ Ryn. You made me _kill_ him.”

Ryn’s gaze grows sharp. “And I let you bring him back. I told you how to save him. Would you prefer that I not give you that solution? Because the only other options are it kills you and then dies itself, taking Alec with it, or you kill it _and_ Alec- no refunds. This way, you both survived.”

“His heart stopped,” Aidan whispers. “I saw Jace check his rune. He was _dead_.”

“Yes, he was,” Ryn acknowledges. “But not permanently.”

Aidan drags his hand across his eyes. “Are you gonna make me do that again?”

Their eyes are soft. “I will never make you hurt Alec again. The Bane is gone; it can’t take Alec again.”

“Who _will_ you make me hurt, then?”

“I won’t make you hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it,” Ryn says sharply. “I will, however, make you save people, even if it hurts both of you. You’ve done it before, Aidan; you can do it again. You have something unique, and if that ability is necessary, _I will use it._ ”

“I know;” and Ryn steps forward with her arms open, and Aidan falls into them, burying his face in her shoulder. She pets the back of his head and kisses his temple, and murmurs little sounds into his hair.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Aidan pulls back.

“I know.”

_it doesn’t fix anything._

_i know. i can’t afford it to._

_it’s alright._

_no, it isn’t, but i love you and i am so sorry._

_goodbye, ryn._

Aidan steps through the Portal, and it collapses behind him.

Ryn takes a deep breath, looks around, and disappears.

* * *

Clary is waiting on the other side for Aidan, perched on one of the chairs in Magnus’ living room. Everyone else, except for Alec and Magnus himself, is spread across the main area of Magnus’ apartment, and they are all looking at him.

Clary speaks first. “First question: how the hell did you bring Alec back?”

Aidan rubs at the back of his neck. “I, uh… it’s a thing I do.” He looks at Jace and Isabelle, the ones furthest out of the loop. “I… I can’t really die,” he says. “Excepting under some very specific circumstances, I can’t die. If I sustain a ‘fatal’ wound… my magic surges, and I… regenerate, I guess you could say.” His face darkens. “Or I get dragged to Hell for a while, but that doesn’t happen much, except for with the Bane, so.”

He sighs.

“This surge is basically a giant influx of healing magic, directed at… everything close enough to touch me, basically. So, if I’m touching someone while ‘dying’...”

“They get healed too,” Isabelle supplies.

Aidan nods. “I’ve done it before. I was… reasonably certain it would work here.”

“‘Reasonably’,” Jace says.

“Well, that was the only option I had with even a chance of Alec surviving,” Aidan snaps, “so forgive me if I wasn’t sure about it.”

Clary lays a hand on his arm. “Calm down, okay? Jace is…” She glances at her boyfriend and drops her voice. “He lost his _parabatai,_ Aidan. Even if it was just for a bit… that kind of damage…”

“I know, Clary.” Aidan just sounds exhausted. “I know what that does to people, I’ve seen it. I’m… I’m not angry.”

There is a weary pause before Rhia claps her hands. “Alright, I think we’re done for tonight. Everyone… go home, get some rest. We’ll come back here in the morning, for Alec.”

The others get up and file out, some slower than others. Clary sees Isabelle’s longing glances over her shoulder at Aidan, but there just isn’t much to be done, and Izzy… Izzy knows it.

The last ones are Clary, Aidan, and Rhia. Rhia plants a kiss on Aidan’s cheek and walks out, and Clary meets his eyes.

“Put on the glamour and you can come home with me.”

Aidan nods, and folds into her arms. Clary half-holds him up the whole way home.

* * *

They come back the next morning, spread across Magnus’ spacious living room, draped over each other. Clary and Jace are curled together, Jace’s hand around Isabelle’s arm. Isabelle, the third on the couch, has her leg twined around Aidan’s. His arm is reaching off the couch, to hold onto Kaitlyn’s. Kaitlyn has Rhia in her lap, the vampire’s face turned into Kaitlyn’s hair and mouth firmly closed. Sarah and Madden sit across from the couch claimed by the Nephilim, wrapped around each other, both still and quiet. Magnus knows they’re all there, but he is still with Alec, and they’re waiting for the High Warlock to emerge with his news.

They wait for ten minutes before Magnus comes out. His green eyes are tired, but he doesn’t look scared like he did last night. He directs his gaze to Aidan and Isabelle’s twined hands. “He’s okay. Tired and… kind of blurry about what happened, but he’s alright.”

There is a collective sigh of relief from the Shadowhunters, and even the anchors, who know practically nothing about Alec Lightwood, have little smiles on their faces. Jace swallows. “Can we see him?”

Magnus deliberates for a few moments before answering. “...yes, I think so. Jace, Isabelle- you go ahead in.” He locks eyes with Aidan. “I have a few questions I want answered.”

The two Shadowhunters get up and leave. As soon as they close the door to Alec’s borrowed room behind them, Sarah and Madden slide into their vacated seats next to Clary and Aidan, a silent proclamation of solidarity. Rhia raises her face from Kaitlyn’s neck and gazes at Magnus.

Magnus swallows, but he doesn’t look intimidated, only… deeply curious. “How did you know that would work?”

“I didn’t,” Aidan says honestly. “But it’s worked before, on other people. And…”

Magnus’ gaze sharpens. “And what?”

“I was assured that it was a viable option- that, really, it was the best option I had.”

“And who assured you of that?”

Aidan shuts his eyes. “Magnus-”

“No, Aidan. My b- Alec _died_ yesterday, and you _brought him back_ , in order to get a hunter spirit intent on killing you out of his body. I- we- deserve some goddamn answers.”

“You do.” Aidan’s voice is hushed. “You all deserve answers, I won’t deny that. But…” He licks his lips. “I don’t know if the answers I can give are ones you want.”

Magnus pauses. “Okay. Just… who told you it would work?”

Aidan hesitates. Takes a deep breath. Sets his shoulders. “Ryn.”

Magnus blinks. The anchors are staring at Aidan curiously. “Who?” Clary asks, the first words spoken by someone other than Magnus and Aidan in this interrogation.

“Ryn.” Aidan hesitates. “We… we call her ‘Mom’, sometimes. She, she kinda is.”

Everyone in the room is staring at him. “Your mom is dead,” Rhia mutters. “Or Lilith.”

Aidan tries to hide his flinch. “Yeah. My _biological_ mothers. Ryn… Ryn’s a different case.”

“ _How_?” Magnus presses. “How could she know that- that whatever you did would work?”

Aidan’s eyes are wide and strained. It’s clear he’s never had this conversation before, and that it carries a weight that the others aren’t understanding; but they want answers, and that desire is overriding the impulse to keep Aidan comfortable.

There is the sound of a snap.

“It would work because I said so,” says a voice, and the heads all whip around from Aidan to the newcomer.

They’re wearing a dark blue hoodie and jeans, a black tank top, and gray sneakers with red laces. They have red-framed glasses, and their hair is cut short on the sides with the top all wavy and fluffy. They _might_ be a female- their chest is a little… bumpy- but it’s pretty indistinct. Clary’s eyes widen.

“I saw you,” she breathes. “On the cliff.”

The person inclines their head. “You did.”

“Are you Ryn?” Sarah asks.

They nod. “Yep. Heard the conversation, figured I’d swoop in and save Aidan some awkward moments.” They spread their hands. “What do you want answered?”

Magnus jumps on it. “What do you mean, it worked because you said so?”

Ryn snorts. “Jumping right into the deep questions, huh?” They glance around at the others. “Any easier questions before I answer his?”

Clary bites her lip. “Um…”

Ryn grins, a brief flash of teeth. “Gender or age?”

Clary blinks. “Uh… gender, I guess?…”

Ryn smiles. “I’m bigender- I switch between male, female, and in-between. I… I’ve made my body reflect that.” They swallow. “Anything else?”

“How did you get in here?” Sarah asks.

“Falls under the broader scope of topics I’ll address when answering Magnus’ question,” Ryn says quickly. “Anyone else?”

“Why Ryn?”

Ryn blinks at Kaitlyn. “What?”

“Why Ryn?” she repeats.

Ryn shoves a hand through the hair on the top of their head, tugging on the strands. “...It’s a nickname. Of the legal spelling of my name. And no, I’m not telling you what my full or legal name is. You get Ryn, and that’s it.”

“How does Aidan know you?” Clary asks.

Ryn pauses, formulating their answer. “Well… it’s complicated. He met me in the late 1700s, but… I’ve known him since his conception.”

There is a pause.

“How old are you?” Magnus asks, eyebrows near his hairline. Ryn smiles.

“It’s relative. Here… I’d probably be… at least five and a half thousand, easy. Elsewhere… I could be younger, I could be older.” Ryn shrugs, and repeats, “It’s all relative.”

There is a pause.

“Okay, I’m guessing that’s the last of the easy questions,” Ryn sighs, dragging a hand through their hair. “Lovely.” They meet Magnus’ eyes. “It worked because I said so,” they say again, voice solemn and quiet, “and _that_ worked because… well, simply put, because I control the rules of this world.”

The room goes very quiet.

“What.” Magnus’ voice is flat.

Ryn shrugs. “Sarah- same answer for you. I control the rules here; I can pop in wherever I want, whenever I want.”

Rhia’s staring. “What do you mean, you control the rules?”

Ryn’s eyes are glittering. “I created this universe, and the rules that govern its inhabitants. What Aidan did, Magnus- that was a backdoor solution that I’d built in as a way for me to get out of killing Alec. I did _not_ want to kill Alec, so… I allowed Aidan to use the resurrection thing as a… as a sort of cheat code, I suppose you’d call it.” They fold their arms. “Somehow, I didn’t think you’d complain.”

Magnus seems a little stuck on that point. Ryn smirks slightly.

“Okay, but-” Clary’s voice is rapidly getting higher. “When you say you _created this world_ -”

Ryn sighs and tugs at their hair. “I… I mean, I don’t like to think of it in those terms, but… I’m… basically God to you guys…?”

There is a silence.

“Come again,” Kaitlyn sputters.

“And Aidan _knows_ you?” Sarah asks, pointing at the man in question.

“Yep,” Ryn says to Sarah. “He’s known me for a while.” They turn and point to Kaitlyn. “I created this universe, made all the rules, and created everything that occupies this world. Therefore, I am the rough equivalent of the monotheistic, typically Christian 'God' to this universe.” They shrug, grabbing at their hair with one hand. “I don’t like to think about it that way, but… that’s the… most clean-cut way, I suppose.”

Rhia is staring at them. Her voice is very quiet when she asks, “How old are you?”

Ryn blinks. “Well, I told you, it’s all relative-”

“No,” Rhia says, and now the other heads are facing the vampire; “No. Not how old are you here. How old are you to you?”

Ryn swallows and tugs at the sleeve of their hoodie. They’re looking at the floor when they answer. “...legally, I- I’m thirteen.”

There is no response for a long time.

“Thirteen,” Magnus says flatly. “And you created a _universe_?”

Ryn shrugs. “Not actually that difficult. I mostly used my own as a base platform, and then repopulated it with- well, with the daily strangers that I don’t know, and the people I do.” They wave around the room. “You guys.”

Magnus’ eyebrows shoot up. “In your own.”

Ryn nods. “I guess you could think of your world as… a sort of… pocket universe? It’s held within my own, since I created it.”

“And… you’re thirteen.”

Ryn sighs. “Yes,” they bite off. “I was born less than fourteen years ago, according to my world’s timeline. That means shit, okay, and I’d seriously appreciate it if you stopped fixating on that one fact.”

“Ryn,” Aidan murmurs. “Calm down.”

Their nostrils flare, but they tug at the tips of their hair and take a couple deep breathes. The air stops trembling.

“Okay,” Ryn sighs, “we’re good, okay.” They glance at Magnus. “Anything else you want to ask, while I’m here?”

Magnus hesitates for a moment. “Aidan… Aidan kept saying ‘we’.”

Ryn freezes, then glances over at Aidan.

_do you think they’re ready to hear it?_

_i’m not sure. they’ve learned a lot in the past ten minutes._

_true. but… it’s probably easier to get it all out now._ Ryn tugs at their hair with one hand. _besides… i need to wrap this up, i’m almost out of time._

_got it. go ahead._

“Aidan,” Ryn says, too heavily for someone their apparent age, “is referring to my… other children.” They bite their lip. “More specifically… the people I care about the most in the… other universes I’ve created.”

There is a pause.

“There’s more of them?” Clary looks like she might pass out.

“...About twenty more, I think,” Ryn says, almost apologetically. “At last count. I don’t really remember.”

They glance at Aidan.

“Longer explanation,” they sigh, “I created a multiverse, with multiple different versions of the same… character… as the ‘protagonist’.” Ryn swallows. “I’m a writer. In my world… you, those other universes… you’re all stories I’ve created. Aidan is the main protagonist of this universe, as he is this world’s version of Simon Lewis.”

Clary chokes. “So… that- that _personality_ -”

“Is the person I focus on in each world of my multiverse, yes,” Ryn says seriously. “Though most of the time, he’s an actual person, not a personality.” They pause. “Well, there is that one… and those other couple… but those aren’t an official part of the multiverse.”

Everyone other than Aidan and Ryn themself is just sitting there in a state of shock, no more questions to be asked. Ryn glances at their ‘son’, meeting Aidan’s eyes and holding them.

Then-

“So you control everything that happens here?”

Isabelle is standing at the entrance to the main room from the hallway, holding onto the frame of the wall. Jace is behind her, and the door to Alec’s room is open.

Ryn sighs. “Not… exactly. I control _most_ of what happens, but sometimes…” They glance at Kaitlyn and Rhia. “Sometimes you surprise me.” They turn back to Isabelle. “However, I do have the ability to… edit what those surprises are. If I wanted to, I could go back and delete anyone I wanted- anything I wanted.” Their voice hardens and deepens. “If I wanted to… I could make this world so much worse. I could do so many things… eliminate so many factors…” They shake their head and shove their hands into the pockets of their hoodie. “But I don’t want to, so I don’t.”

They frown. “Well. That and the fact that if I changed anything major… it’d mess the plot up pretty badly. Can’t have that.”

They smile at Isabelle. “Don’t worry about it, alright? You’re getting a better outcome than most other versions of you. _You_ are only going to die the once, and everyone you care about that I could save is still here.”

Ryn snaps their fingers, and they’re gone.

* * *

Alec thinks over what he’s overheard, and remembers the voice who told him to wake up. Then he thinks about everything else.

He gets up, and walks out into the hallway.

“I think we all need to take a step back and think for a while,” he says, leaning on the doorway. All eyes shoot to him. “Clary, Magnus, Aidan… I’d like to talk to you.” He glances at the anchors. “I assume you all have somewhere to go?”

They nod.

“Go there,” Alec says tiredly. “We’ve all had a very long, very… informative few days. We all need to shut down for a bit.”

The anchors mutter to each other for a minute, but they go, filing out the door, the Adlers holding hands and Kaitlyn and Rhia doing the same. Alec looks at his siblings.

“Go home,” he asks quietly. “If Mom’s there, tell her I’m alright, and that I’ll be home tomorrow.”

Isabelle hugs him. Jace squeezes his shoulder. They walk out the door.

Alec meets Clary’s eyes. “How much did you know?”

She swallows. “Not… not about Ryn. I, I knew that Aidan suspected you were the Bane, like I said. I didn’t know about Ryn, or- or their multiverse.”

Alec nods. “I’m pretty sure your mom’s worried about you.” His voice is gentle. “Go home, alright?”

Clary nods, turns to Aidan. “Are you…”

Aidan looks at Alec. “I’ll stick around a little longer. Dunno if I’m going to yours after, but you don’t need to worry about me.”

Clary snorts. “That’s pretty clear,” she mutters, and leaves.

Alec looks at Magnus. “We need to have a very long conversation,” he says, voice far calmer than he feels. “But it’s late, and everyone is exhausted, and neither of us are in the state for it.” He swallows. “Can I stay the night? We can talk in the morning.”

Magnus deliberates for a minute, swaying slightly from exhaustion. “Alright,” he says eventually, and walks down the hall to his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

Aidan is seated on the couch, gold eyes burning into Alec’s. Alec sits down across from him in a chair, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

“You brought me back.”

“Yes.”

“After you killed me.”

Aidan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What happened to the Bane?”

“It dies with the host. It will come back eventually, but it can’t take your body again.”

Alec nods, and thumbs at his sleeve. “Thanks. You didn’t have to, to do what you did. You could’ve let me just die, and you didn’t, so… thanks.”

Aidan shrugs. “You’re a good person. I like you, Alec, even if I didn’t trust you. Besides… losing you, it would have destroyed Isabelle.”

“Yeah.” Alec hesitates before asking the next question. “Have… with Ryn, did you ever… have you ever gone… Elsewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Several. The worlds in general are pretty similar, it’s mostly- me, Simon Lewis- who changes. And the people around him.”

Alec swallows. “Does that include me?”

Aidan grins. “Of course. You’re… you tend to be a really big part in their lives.”

“Not in yours?”

Aidan shrugs. “Not yet, maybe. But you play a huge part in Izzy’s, and Clary’s, and Magnus’, and Jace’s. You’ll get a bigger role in mine the longer I stick around.”

“And how long will that be?”

Aidan shrugs. “Once Clary dies… I’m heading out. But otherwise… it’s kinda up to you guys. How long you want me here.”

Alec nods. “How does Magnus fit into this? He seems… weirdly important to you.”

Aidan grins briefly, a quick flash of teeth and gold-glittering tongue. “I get where he’s coming from. He’s so fucking _young_ , but he’s already pretty powerful. He could burn himself out if he’s not careful.” He shrugs. “Plus, we’ve run into each other too often over the past couple centuries. Ryn does things for a reason.”

Alec pauses at the reminder that _Aidan knows God_ , and that _God is a thirteen-year-old kid from another universe._ “How long have you known Ryn, anyway?”

Aidan shrugs. “Not sure, honestly. Time… blurs together, after a while. They started talking to me in Hell couple hundred years ago, but _they’ve_ known _me_ far longer than that.”

Alec nods. “Yeah, I think they said that.” He swallows. “So… where does Ryn go?”

“Elsewhere.” Aidan smiles. “Sometimes that means to other parts of the multiverse; sometimes that means ‘home’, back to their own world. It depends.”

Alec hesitates. “How… how long have we existed, in their world?”

Aidan’s brow furrows. “...I don’t actually know. That’s… not something Ryn’s told us.”

Alec nods. “Okay. I see.” He rubs his hands across his legs. “...Look, I’m sure you’re tired, especially considering… y’know, the thing you pulled.” He can’t quite make himself say _after you resurrected me_. “Go… I don’t know, wherever home is for you now. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Aidan nods and gets up. “Yeah.” He holds out a hand; after a moment, Alec takes it, and they shake.

Aidan’s gold eyes burn into his as he smiles and says, “Nice to meet you, Alec Lightwood. I’m Aidan Morningstar.”

Alec swallows. “Likewise.”

Aidan drops Alec’s hand and sweeps out the door.

Alec locks it behind him, walks into his guest room, and sits down on his bed. He’s not going to be sleeping for a while.

* * *

Of course, Clary's the one to corner Aidan two days later, Isabelle behind her, and demand that he come to Magnus' apartment. He agrees grudgingly and they Portal there, where the other anchors and Jace, Alec, and Magnus are waiting. Aidan sighs.

"What more do you want to know?"

Isabelle swallows, making a little aborted movement like she wants to reach out to him. Clary's heart clenches in sympathy. "What did Ryn mean, when they said I'm getting off easy?"

Aidan shuts his eyes, which doesn't reassure Clary at all. "In the universes I have been to," he says heavily, "of the Isabelles I have seen: one is stuck in a cycle of reincarnation and painful death because someone sold their soul to drag someone else out of Hell; one is soulmates with someone who's clinging to love with someone else; one is in the process of getting a girlfriend; one is dealing with a dead brother- who was an archangel, by the way-, an angel war, and a permanently injured partner; and one is Lilith's consort, because Jonathan took over the world and decided his mother needed a couple of presents." He swallows, hard, and doesn't open his eyes. "Frankly, I'm inclined to agree with Ryn on that one."

There is a long pause. Clary ignores her own dull horror in favor of watching Isabelle work through the knot of information Aidan just dropped, accept it, and pack it away in her mind. 

Magnus licks his lips. "...Do you know what- what's happened to the rest of us, in those other universes?"

"Madden, Sarah, Kaitlyn and Rhia don't exist," Aidan says right off the bat. The four in question look somewhere between offended, surprised, or curious. "Apparently they were specially created just for this universe." He sighs. "Magnus, I know you're part of the cycle Isabelle's caught in; you and Alec have the best lives out of anyone in the second world; you are avoiding other-me because of his relationship with your dad; you're mourning your boyfriend and trying to keep Lucifer from starting the Apocalypse; and... you're Jonathan's bitch, because he's been threatening Alec's life if you don't do what he says, and honestly his world is a better one to live in than the one he left behind." Aidan sighs, drags his hand through his hair. "Happy?"

Magnus takes a moment to answer. "...Not really. Both scared for and pitying of the other me's, really."

Aidan nods. "Get used to that."

Clary takes a deep breath. "What... what happens now?"

Aidan blinks his eyes open to stare at her. "Well... I'd assume these guys-" he gestures at his old anchors. "-are gonna get back to their lives, and I'll stay here, in whatever capacity you all are comfortable with."

Clary swallows. "I... that sounds good."

Aidan's smile is tight. "Good."

He shares goodbyes with his anchors, hugs and kisses to foreheads and cheeks, whispers something in Kaitlyn's ear and winks at Rhia as red spreads across Kaitlyn's face. They Portal out, one by one, and Aidan sighs deeply as he closes it behind them.

"You aren't going to stop asking me about your alternate-universe selves, are you."

There is a resounding chorus of "no"s. He almost smiles, then, and it makes something in Clary's stomach flutter in relief.

He takes his seat on the sofa and leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes bright and face open, and it's the most welcoming Clary's ever seen him, she thinks. Practically all his secrets are open to the people in this room, and all of them are still here, and some of them even love him. No one is trying to kill them or take over the world. All that is required of Aidan is to talk about alternate universes, and his eyes are light and lambent, and  _god_ Clary wants to hug him.

She settles for beaming at him instead, before he speaks again. His eyes smile back before he turns his attention to the room at large.

"Who wants to know next?" he says, wearily fond, and Jace's hand shoots into the air, luckily the one on the side opposite from Clary.

Clary snuggles against her boyfriend's side, hand clamped in the back of his jacket, and listens to Aidan talk about Jaces from other universes. Worlds where things are mostly the same, but a few vital details are radically different. Images float behind her eyes, of fiery wings and strange symbols and bloody fingers, of eyes that are alien yet so familiar it hurts. Of voices, calling her name, and eyes, looking at a thousand different hers in a thousand different ways.

She's been scared, before, of Aidan. Of what he is, what he hides, what follows him. She's been scared of her father, her brother, her mother and Luke even. She's been scared of all the people in this room, of everything the people in this room entail, of the world that envelopes them and refuses to let them go.

She is terrified, now, of the possibilities that spin off Aidan's tongue; of all the ways their lives could have been, had even a few things been different, and she is intrigued by all the ways their lives could have been had _everything_ been different.

She is infinitely more terrified of the teenage kid with the brown eyes who  _created_ all of this, who controls everything and edits the rest, and she refuses to think about the implications ((that even her terror is controlled by and thought of by that teenager)).

And she is so, so excited for what is to come; for Magnus and Alec to  _finally_ talk things through, if they haven't already, for Isabelle and Aidan to find something that works for both of them, for her to stop lying to Jace about her best friend. ((Maybe, even, for Aidan to take her and maybe the others to one of the worlds he describes, awe and fondness and horror mixed into his voice.))

Clary smiles, and kisses Jace's cheek, and settles easily into his embrace.

* * *

Ryn smiles, awed excitement breaking through the exhaustion. They stop typing, runs a hand through their hair, stares at the words on the screen. Bites their lip. Their eyes are bright and wet, and their smile is somewhere between ecstatic and disbelief.

"Finally," they sigh, and click  _Post_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it; I've been working really, really hard on this, and I'd really love some feedback.  
> Have a wonderful 2016. I look forward to writing for you all, and I hope you keep enjoying what I have to give. <3


End file.
